


Let Me Go

by sometimesiquestionmylifechoices



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Ehh not really sad it's just not happy, Fairy!Louis, Fluff, M/M, Sad Ending, Self-Harm, Self-Harm!Harry, Smut, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural AU - Freeform, blowjob, handjob, omg angst and porn im laughing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:43:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesiquestionmylifechoices/pseuds/sometimesiquestionmylifechoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pixies are sent to help people with their problems. Louis is a self harm/depression pixie who is sent to Harry Styles, a depressed teenager with body issues. They fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Just so everything is clear, prostitutelou is my tumblr and this is my original prompt/writing. I made the AU meme for this (http://prostitutelou.tumblr.com/post/53007906673/au-meme-pixies-are-sent-to-help-people-with-their) after I thought of the idea, so if there are any other writings with this prompt... well... this is the original? Haha. The meme got a lot more attention that I expected it to, oops.  
> There are going to be definite trigger warnings in this! Please please please stay safe, I love you all.  
> Enjoy! x

 

Louis pressed a gentle kiss to Scarlet’s forehead. She pouted at him as he pulled away.

 

“Do you really have to go?” He swept her inky black bangs out of her eyes, trying to ignore the empty feeling in his stomach. He’d especially liked Scarlet, she had such a vivacious personality.

 

“I don’t have a choice, love. You’re ready; you can do this on your own now.” Her lower lip trembled slightly.

 

“How much longer?”

 

“Not long.” Louis already felt the weakening in his hands and the faint lightheadedness that came right before being transported. “I love you, okay?”

 

“I love you too, Louis. Thank you so much.” Tears glimmered in her bright blue eyes and her voice cracked slightly. Louis’s felt the familiar dropping sensation and called out his last words to Scarlet.

 

“Don’t ever forget that you’re beautiful.”  And he was gone, launched into the realm of transportation.

 

Louis was a pixie. A depression pixie, to be exact. Pixies helped people. Each one was specified to help with certain problems. There were depression pixies, abuse pixies, bullying pixies, anxiety pixies, pixies for almost anything you could think of. They were almost like personal psychiatrists.

 

Transportation was very strange. Time really held no value. You could be pulled in and come out fifty years later, but felt like only seconds had passed. There was no sight, or any feeling really. Just thought. Louis always thought transportation resembled what it would be like if you lived only inside your mind. A pixie’s first transporting could really be quite disorienting.

 

Louis vaguely wondered if he would be brought back to headquarters this time. Probably not, he decided. He’d been back just two transportings ago. Pixies normally got brought back after every five transportings for a short break.

 

His mind didn’t have time to wander much before he was launched into the world again. He waited for the constricting sensation of his body being made of marble to pass. Transporting always left breathing uncomfortable, and his fingers felt like they’d been frozen. His visibility usually didn’t kick in until he was able to move freely again.

 

Once his sight and mobility returned, Louis cautiously sat up. He was seated on a bed in a gray bedroom decorated only with the bed, a dresser, and bookshelves as high as the ceiling absolutely overflowing with books. A large window took up the majority of the wall perpendicular to the bed and was accompanied by a wide window seat. A lanky curly-haired boy sat on it, facing away from Louis with his head buried in a book.

 

Louis took a deep breath. This was his least favorite part of everything, but it had to be done. He cautiously stepped towards the boy.

 

“Hi.” The boy spun around, his eyes widening as he scrambled to his feet. The book dropped from his hand and bounced once onto the cushion of the window seat.

 

“Who – who are you?” His voice was deep, melodic almost, sort of like a sad song.

 

“I’m Louis,” Louis answered as he tried not to gape. The boy was so _pretty_. His eyes, although seeming sad and lacking a healthy shine, were a deep emerald green framed by dark lashes. His dark chocolate curls were swept messily to the side, curled into neat ringlets by his ears, and contrasted nicely with his even, pale skin. He was clad in a loose, blue plaid shirt with sleeves pushed up just before his elbows and jeans that sagged slightly on his lanky frame.

 

The boy frowned.

 

“But who _are_ you? As in, how did you just appear in my room and why are you here?” Louis scratched the back of his head, wishing there was a way to explain this without sounding totally insane.

 

“Um . . . I’m a pixie.” The boy’s eyes flicked once up and down Louis’s curvy frame.

 

“You don’t _look_ like a pixie.” Louis glanced down at his outfit – felt brown shoes, jeans, a white t-shirt, and a light denim jacket. He scowled. He hated that remark.

 

“How would you know what a pixie looks like when you’ve never seen one?” The boy’s head tilted slightly.

 

“But you’re not, like, tiny.” Louis snorted.

 

“Being the size that people portray pixies as being would be completely impractical. How could I get anything done if I was six inches tall?”

 

“Well, what do you need to get done? Like, what do you do?” Louis sighed.

 

“I, um, help people.”

 

“With?” Louis sighed again.

 

“Before I answer that, can I at least know your name?” The boy hesitated for a moment.

 

“Harry. Styles.”

 

“Okay, Harry . . . I’m a depression pixie. So, like, eating disorders, self-harm, suicide, that stuff.” As he spoke, one of Harry’s arms slipped behind his back. Louis pretended not to notice, diverting his gaze to glance around the room.

 

“You have a lot of books,” he mused when Harry didn’t offer anything to say. He stepped towards one of the bookshelves and glanced over the titles. A lot of old classics, he noted. Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen.

 

The pale boy was watching him warily, a hint of fear in his eyes, almost like a frightened kitten about to swipe a paw at you . . .

 

“So – why are you here? Why me? What did I do to get chosen for this?” Louis angled slightly toward the boy, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

 

“You tell me,” he said quietly. Harry balked. There was a silence between the two before Harry sighed and plopped back down on the window seat.

 

“So . . . how long are you here for?” Louis shrugged.

 

“Until you get better. As long as it takes.”

 

“So, do I get to know anything about you?” Louis grinned and walked over to take a seat next to Harry on the window seat.

 

“I’ve lived for seven transportations – that’s twenty-one of your human years – that means I’ve helped seven people. Pixies measure time by the number of people we help, that’s how we age, by maturing from helping people . . .”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I just can't stop writing this wow  
> Chapter three is going to be much longer!

Harry pulled his legs up onto the window seat and wrapped his arms around his knees.

“So do you get like, pixie powers or something?” Louis laughed.

“Pixie powers?” Harry smiled a small smile and blushed.

“You know what I mean.” Louis grinned and jumped up.

“Let me show you.”

He went and stood at the center of the room. His hands clasped behind his back and Harry watched him intently. Louis smiled mischievously and closed his eyes. He concentrated on remembering that sensation of emptiness, almost similar to transporting, where he felt like nothing but thought and energy. It took a moment, but soon he heard Harry’s astonished gasp and his eyes flew open. He immediately reappeared and Harry’s mouth dropped open.

“You just – you were right there, but . . . how do you do that?” Louis shrugged and sat back down on the window seat.

“I just do. It’s not as cool as it seems, though, I can’t do it without my eyes being closed. So I can’t see anything when I’m invisible. And it also happens when I’ve been knocked unconscious. Survival mode or whatever.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Is there anything else?” Louis looked up at the ceiling.

“Not really.”

“Then what’s so great about being a pixie?” The corners of Louis’s mouth tugged down slightly.

“I never said being a pixie was great,” he muttered. Harry watched him carefully.

“Then what’s bad about it?” Louis’s head snapped up. No one had ever asked him that before.

“What?” Harry leaned forward.

“If it isn’t great, then there must be a reason. What’s bad about it?” Louis looked into the boy’s bright green eyes, and something about the absolute open innocence of them made him shake his head.

“It isn’t about me, now is it?” he said, plastering a friendly smile on his face. Harry’s lips pursed and his entire body seemed to very subtly change, draw back in on itself. Louis’s stomach dropped – that was the opposite of progress.

“So why does it have to be about me?” Harry asked softly, look down at his knees. “Why does it matter if I get help? Why did you choose me? Why couldn’t you just leave me alone to be depressed, and self-harm, and if I die, I die?” Each question hit Louis like a sharp pang. A mix of sympathy and anger bubbled in his stomach and his hands shook slightly.

“Look, I don’t choose who I get sent to and –“ he tried to mask the way Harry’s words had pained him, but ended up sounding angry, and Harry interrupted him.

“So now you’re stuck with me, is that how you feel?” Louis’s hand clenched into a half-fist.

“I didn’t say that, I –“

“You didn’t have to say it. You don’t want to be around me, just like everyone else. So why don’t you just go away?” Louis stood and stepped slightly away from the window seat.

“I can’t,” he said under his breath, so quiet that Harry didn’t even realize he’d spoken. Tears pricked at his eyes as he reached for the window and opened it. The glass was broken into two French doors that opened out and Louis stepped onto the window seat, kneeling on one knee. A tree sat just outside the window, its thick branches in a few feet’s distance.

The warm night air wafted into the room and Louis took a deep breath of it. He looked over at Harry, who suddenly looked regretful and on the verge of crying. Louis’s muscles, taut with adrenaline, suddenly relaxed and his voice softened.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured, and jumped into the thick leaves of the tree. He easily climbed into a higher position in the branches and sat back on one against the trunk. He could see Harry’s window through the leaves and watched as the boy looked out of his window for a second, halfheartedly scanning the leaves. He reached out and closed both halves of the window, stepped back, hesitated, then leaned forward and pushed one half the slightest bit ajar.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 Louis hopped down onto the branch closest to Harry’s window the next morning. The sun had just come up the tiniest bit, but it was still mostly dark. A faint light emanated from the window, one half still open a small amount. Louis grabbed onto the branch above his head with one hand and leaned out, stretching towards the window. His fingers just barely brushed the edge of the white frame before he slipped. He regained his balance and cursed, firmly grasping the branch with his supporting hand and leaning out again. This time he successfully caught the edge of the window and swung it open. He crouched back on the branch, preparing himself before jumping through the window, lining his arms above his head like a swimmer diving into water. Once he was through the window, he tucked his head and landed into a somersault, but the momentum sent him through an extra roll and his bum thumped into the wall opposite the window. Louis sat on his back for a moment, cursing under his breath. He finally, but shakily, got to his feet and looked over at Harry, who was wide awake and sitting up in his bed.

He was staring back at Louis with wide eyes. Louis let out a small huff of a sigh and waved. Harry finally snorted a laugh. He looked over at Louis shyly and began to toy with a loose thread on his bed comforter.

“I, um,” he began, his deep voice rough and slightly scratchy. “I’m sorry for, like . . . last night. You don’t have to, um, go away or whatever.” Louis grinned widely at his words, easily satisfied.

“It’s completely okay, I understand,” he said happily. Harry hesitated, but motioned for Louis to join him on his bed. Louis eagerly sat on the opposite end of the boy.

“Why don’t we just, like, start over? Last night was kind of a bad night for me.” Louis nodded willingly and stuck out his hand.

“I’m Louis,” he stated. Harry smiled a small smile and grasped his hand.

“I’m Harry.” They shook. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not 1000 hits yet but whatevs

“So, like . . . how does this work?” Harry asked. Louis shrugged slightly.

“It’s different with every person, really. But for basics, I don’t need food. Pixies can last on what we eat at the base for years. Usually people get used time enough where they let me sleep in their room, but I can sleep in a tree or whatever close enough to you like I did last night.” Harry looked at him carefully.

“So, there are others?” Louis’s brow furrowed.

“Others?”

“Like, other people. That you’ve . . . helped.”

“Oh.” Louis nodded. “Yeah.”

“How many?”

“You’ll be my seventh.”

“What were the others like?” Louis took a deep breath. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Harry shook his head. “Wait, can – I’m going to shower first. Then tell me about them, okay?” Louis nodded and Harry rushed off towards the bathroom.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

When the boy returned he was clad in gray sweats and a black, cotton, long-sleeve shirt. Louis frowned slightly.

“Aren’t you hot? It’s summer, right?” Harry shook his head, then nodded, then smiled a small smile.

“No, I’m not hot, and yes, it is summer.” He paused. “Do you even know what year it is?” Louis chuckled.

“No. What year is it?”

“2012.” Louis looked up at the ceiling, deliberating.

“Not bad,” he mused. He looked over at Harry as he sat on the bed. “How old are you, anyway? And where are we? Oh, I always forget to ask these questions.” Harry smiled a shy smile.

“I’m eighteen, and we’re in Manchester. But I’m moving to London for university in August.”

“Oh.” Louis sat back against the wall. “I’ve been to Europe before, but never Britain. What’s it like here?” Harry deliberated for a moment.

“Rainy.” They both chuckled. “Okay,” Harry said, “your turn.” Louis sighed deeply.

“Do you want me to go in chronological order, or . . .?”

“Whatever works for you.” Louis exhaled a big breath.

“Okay. Chronological then. This might take a while. Do you want physical appearance and stuff too?” Harry nodded, and Louis mirrored the action. “Okay.” He sighed. “Okay.”

“My first ever person was named Clarke. She lived in the States, in Oregon, and I got sent to her in 1994. She was fifteen, and about 5’2”. Long blonde hair, down to her waist. I remember her friends always wanted to play with it, braid it, curl it, straighten it. She was even talked into dying a strand of it purple once. She had dark brown eyes, she wasn’t really pale, but wasn’t tan either. She was really lean – not unhealthy. She’d been a gymnast her entire life, so she just had a tiny frame. She was – she self-harmed. Not in the way that most people think of. She would do this thing where she would, like, dig her nails into her skin and just scratch down.” Louis held out his arm and mimicked the motion. “It didn’t bleed often. The marks faded pretty quickly. I don’t think she ever really did it on purpose, to be honest. Her mind was just too big for itself, y’know? She would start thinking all these horrible things, like why people didn’t like her and things she’d done wrong, and it would just overwhelm her and instinct kicked in. The pain focused her mind, put everything in a smaller perspective. I was only with her for two years. I had to watch her self-harm a lot. I messed up a lot with her. I didn’t know how to handle things as well as I do now.”

“Wait, what do you mean _had_ to?”

“Oh, that’s – we’re not allowed to physically stop you guys from doing anything. Like, if we aren’t able to talk you out of self-harming, then we can’t physically touch you to stop you. It’s horrible, really. Almost like punishment. We really do get attached, and then if we can’t do our job, we have to watch someone we care for do that to themselves.” Harry nodded, signaling for Louis to go on.

“Um, there’s not a whole lot of a story to Clarke . . . so next was Marcy. She lived in Spain – oh, that’s another thing, we can speak any human language fluently – and I was sent to her in about 1970. She was really short, like, five feet exactly. Short, wavy, black hair and brown eyes so dark they were almost black. She was pretty tan, and really skinny. Well, she was really skinny when I met her. She was anorexic. I was with her a long time . . . I was sent when she was thirteen and stayed until she was twenty. I didn’t want to leave when I did . . . I didn’t trust her recovery, but I didn’t have a choice. I think that the only reason she’d been doing so well was because of the guy she’d met. I didn’t want to leave because I wasn’t sure he would stay. And I guess he didn’t, because she relapsed.”

“How do you know?” Louis held out his right wrist to showcase the leather bracelet on it. He turned the bracelet slightly. He revealed six small, cream-colored rocks embedded in the leather. Harry leaned forward in fascination. They were so _pretty_ – they looked like large drops of melted ice cream. The second one in the row was different, though. It was tainted; one line of red running through and branching out like a stream of blood in water.

“That’s Marcy’s. That happens if they relapse. If they commit suicide it’s black.” Harry nodded and leaned back again. Louis dropped his arm and toyed with the rocks.

“After Marcy was Jake.” He smiled a sad smile. “Jake was twenty-two and lived in New York in 1930. He was really good-looking, if you ask me. Tall, broad shoulders, dark, dark black hair, and bright blue eyes. He was always really pale because his dad was a rich business owner of some sort and he never spent a lot of time outside. He was one of the few lucky people unaffected by the crash. But he never felt that lucky, really – he was depressed. And he really couldn’t have been born in a worse time.”

“Why?”

“Jake was, uh – Jake was gay. And that was a bad thing to be in 1930’s America. His entire family rejected the idea, tried to _cure_ him with all of these god-awful treatments. He finally got so tired of all of the fighting that he pretended that one of the “cures” worked. I was sent to him when he was twenty-one – right at the age of taking over his father’s business. He was just moving into his new penthouse flat when I appeared. I stayed with him for seven years. I bet he got married pretty soon after I left, actually, his dad had been bugging him for forever about the “lovely woman” one floor down.”

“Why after you left?”

“When I was there he had a boyfriend living with him.”

“How did he explain _you_?” Louis chuckled softly.

“He, um, didn’t need to explain me.”

“But how did he – _oh_.” Louis nodded. “Is that, like, allowed?” Louis noted that Harry seemed more talkative than usual.

“I don’t see why not. He knew what he was getting into when we got together. And it’s really no other pixie’s business.” Harry nodded, and Louis took that as a signal to go on to the next one.

“After Jake was Lauren.” Louis sighed. “Lauren was fourteen when I was sent to her. She lived in Mongolia in about 2083.” Harry’s eyes widened a little but he didn’t interrupt. “Lauren was _so beautiful_ – it took her forever to see that. She was a model since the age of twelve, and at fourteen she looked to be about seventeen. She had wide, light brown eyes, and when the light hit them just right, they looked storm cloud grey. Her hair was long, pin straight, and inky black. She liked to have it with tiny red streaks, and really, anything looked good on her. She was tall, too, 5’9” and a half by the time she was sixteen. She had a skin complexion and body that any girl would kill for, but she was anorexic, like Marcy. She lost her modeling career at sixteen because her ribs were showing too much and her arms were deathly thin. Honestly, that made it even worse. I guess modeling really made her feel beautiful. But then she started writing music, and it distracted her – and let her express herself. She was good, too . . .

“After Lauren was Alice. She was Dutch, and I was sent to her in about 1950; pale, wide blue eyes, full lips, thick blonde hair. She was bulimic.” Louis paused for a moment. “I’ve helped a lot of people with eating disorders.” He shook his head slightly and glanced at Harry, who was still watching him intently. “Um . . . Alice, right. She ended up getting _really_ bad. She got so skinny her ribs jutted out at the bottom, and her hip bones stuck out too.” Louis swallowed thickly. “She used to just – she would just sit on her bed and cry . . . just apologizing over and over for making me watch her throw up. There were about three months where she just never ate without throwing it back up. I don’t know how she survived, really. And then one day she was lying on her bed and I went over to her and said I was hungry. And she looked up at me all weird cause I’d never eaten in front of her, of course, but she got up and we went down to the kitchen and I asked if we could bake a cake. And we did, and we frosted it and it turned out really pretty, and I just swiped a piece of frosting off the cake and down her nose. And she squeaked at me and it turned into one of those stereotypical kitchen food-fight things, until I accidentally swiped some frosting on her lip and she just kind of licked it off, without thinking I guess, and closed her eyes and said, ‘Mmm.’ When she opened her eyes we just kind of looked at each other and then I grabbed a fork and took a bite of the cake, and offered the fork to her. She kind of looked at it for a moment before taking it and taking a _huge_ bite.” A wide grin found its way to Louis’s face as he told this story. Harry smiled a small smile at the way his eyes crinkled and his whole face seemed to light up with the grin. “And we ate about half of the cake together, just sharing the fork, and afterwards she didn’t throw it up. After that, she got better. Not immediately; sometimes she didn’t eat at all, and others she threw up immediately after a big meal, but she began to eat and hold down regular meals. It took a while, and she almost gave up quite a few times, but she just kept fighting. She was so different when I left . . . she _looked_ healthier, she was confident, she was happy.” A larger than usual dimpled smile found its way to Harry’s face.

“Who was after Alice?” Louis swallowed thickly.

“Um . . . Scarlet. She was, uh – well, let’s save that story for another time.” Harry looked at him with curious eyes but didn’t object. Louis perked up slightly. “Do I get to know anything about you? Your family? What you do in your free time? What are your plans for this summer?” Harry’s eyes widened slightly to the point that he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Um, I – well . . .” Louis smiled a reassuring smile at him.

“Relax, Harry, it’s okay. I don’t bite.” Harry nodded.

“I don’t have a big family. It’s just me, my mum, my stepdad, and my sister, Gemma. She moved out about three years ago. We weren’t all that close.” He paused. “I like to read.” He gestured at the bookshelves. “Obviously. I also write, like, poetry and stuff. I’m not very social . . . People don’t like me that much.” Louis’s brow furrowed.

“Why do you say that?” Harry looked down at his hands and shrugged.

“People don’t like how quiet I am. They don’t like the scars on my arms. They don’t like what they get when I open up to them.” Louis leaned forward slightly.

“Can I see?” he asked quietly. Harry’s eyes darted up to his and back down again.

“See what?”

“Your arm. The scars.” Harry hesitated, but cautiously rolled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He held out his arm. Louis took it in his hand, wordlessly looking over the crisscrossing lines that marred the milky white skin. He carefully brushed his fingers over the bumps, looking up at Harry to gauge his reaction. The boy sucked in a small, short breath, but made no objection. Finally, Louis let his arm go. Harry swiftly rolled down the sleeve again. Fear sat in his green eyes as he watched Louis. The pixie kept his gaze locked on Harry’s.

“I think you’re beautiful.” Harry bit his lip, not responding for a moment.

“Don’t you have to say that?” His voice was guarded, but tired in a way. Louis blinked, startled.

“No.”

“But –“

“No, I don’t have to say that you’re beautiful. I don’t even have to think it, really. I just have to get you better. That’s my only job. There are no rules, no guide book, no specific lines or methods.” Harry traced small, invisible patterns on his leg. “So you, Harry, are beautiful, and I mean it.”

Harry didn’t respond for a moment, but finally looked up and gave Louis a small smile.


	4. Chapter 4

The two slipped into a routine over the next two weeks. Louis discovered that Harry really didn’t go out much, mostly just stayed in his room and read or wrote. Sometimes he and Louis would read together on Harry’s bed, the pixie with his back on the bed, head hanging off so that his fluffy hair poofed towards the ground, and legs up vertical on the wall. Harry sat normally, with his knees up or legs crossed, occasionally glancing over at Louis and shaking his head with the tiniest bit of affection.

Harry mostly took care of himself. His mum and stepfather both worked long hours and liked to spend their free time together. Harry had free reign over most of the second story of the house, and eventually offered Louis Gemma’s old room, which had recently been turned into an unused guest room, to sleep in.

He gratefully accepted, but spent the majority of his waking hours with Harry. Louis tried to get to know the boy better, but he just wouldn’t open up. He refused to talk about what school had been like for him, and past family drama, or his self-harm. And Louis understood, of course, but it was difficult and tedious.

Otherwise, Harry adjusted very easily to having a pixie around him constantly. Most people got annoyed or self-conscious by always having someone with them, but Harry just accepted it and lived his life. Louis wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. It kind of made him think that Harry was used to taking whatever he got with no complaints.

One night, Louis awoke to a sharp, stabbing pain in his tummy. He shot up into a sitting position, his body contorting in on itself in an awkward ball around the center of the pain. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He ground his teeth together and dug his fingers into his stomach. He knew what this was.

The house was eerily silent, somehow quieter than usual. Louis knew that he should get up, go to Harry, but he couldn’t. This pain had never happened so far away from his person before. Eventually it lessened, dulled, and Louis’s body relaxed slightly as he inhaled labored breaths. An echo of the stabbing sensation was still present, but much less defined. He waited. Just as he began to move to get out of his bed, an even stronger pain pierced into his midsection. A cry escaped his lips and he fell to his knees on the floor.

By the time Harry arrived a few moments later, the pain was gone. Of course it was. Louis was still on his knees on the floor when the door opened. Harry rushed to his side.

“Are you okay?” His voice was weak in an odd way, almost too calm. Louis’s jaw clenched. He’d been waiting for this. It had taken longer than he thought it would, honestly. Harry’s hand came to rest on the pixie’s shoulder. “Louis?”

Louis slowly relaxed his body and looked up at Harry.

“Where?” he asked quietly. Harry’s hand dropped from his shoulder.

“Where what?”

“Where is it?”

“Where is _what_?” Louis’s teeth mashed together.

“God, Harry, you _know_ what.”

There was a moment of silence before Harry sat back crisscross and yanked up the sleeve of his shirt – night was the only time he wore short sleeves – to expose his shoulder, covered loosely in a white, blood-splotched bandage. He tugged down the bandage to reveal the freshly marred skin of his shoulder and stared at Louis with glimmering eyes.

Louis watched Harry carefully before bringing his gaze to the sliced skin. Harry obviously hadn’t cleaned the area, blood streaked haphazardly across the area and smudged a little onto his shirt sleeve.

“What happened to you?” Harry whispered after a few moments. Startled, Louis looked up at him.

“What?”

“This is what happened to me, now what happened to you?” His voice softened. “You – you sounded hurt. That’s why I . . . are you okay?”

“Oh.” Louis nodded quickly. “I – yeah. It’s just, like, the first time, with like, a new . . . person, it hurts. A lot. Like, an actual, physical pain.” Harry’s eyes widened.

“So I did that to you? I hurt you? That was my fault?” His voice broke on the last word, and Louis immediately reached out to him, pulling him into a spontaneous embrace.

“No, Harry, no, no, no. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. It’s all gone now, it doesn’t hurt anymore.” He released the boy and looked at him with worried eyes. “I’m more worried about you, do you want to talk about it?” Harry shook his head.

“No, but . . . is there anything you haven’t told me? About, like, being a pixie?” Louis sighed.

“It hurts when someone relapses after I’m gone. And some of the older pixies with more power can pull us younger ones back to the base temporarily, and that hurts too.”

“It sounds like a lot of things hurt.” Louis shrugged.

“The way I see it, it’s almost like a punishment. Like, we couldn’t stop someone from hurting themselves, so we get to hurt too. Or usually when we get pulled back, we’re doing something wrong. So it hurts, even though we don’t have a choice.”

“But . . . doesn’t that make it seem almost like it’s your fault if I – if someone self-harms?” Louis shrugged again and leaned back against the bed.

“It kind of is, in a way.” Harry tugged down the sleeve of his shirt.

“Don’t think that way.” His voice was almost stern, firm and insistent. “None of this is your fault. Don’t ever blame yourself for anything that I do.” Louis, completely taken aback, opened his mouth, then closed it again when he realized he had no idea what to say. Something very small fluttered in his stomach, and he clenched his hands nervously. Harry was so actively trying to make him feel guiltless. He was so intent on making sure that Louis knew that nothing was his fault. But why? Louis asked himself. They hadn’t become attached at all. His other people had definitely cared about him, but they had always seemed fine to allow someone else at least a portion of the blame for their problems. And Louis has always shouldered the load for them, and had been fine in doing it, if even subconsciously. But Harry was so . . . different.

A few minutes of silence passed, and Louis finally stood. He crawled back into his bed, and motioned for Harry to join him. The boy hesitated, but also finally slid in next to Louis. They lay in silence for a bit before Harry cautiously edged closer, scooting down a bit so that his head was level with the pixie’s neck. Louis’s breath hitched, but he pulled Harry closer to him so that he felt the heat of his body against his chest and his warm breath skating across his collarbone. He slept better that night than ever before in that house, and probably warmer too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone leave comments please I really want to know what people think

A month passed. Harry moved out of his parent’s house and into a flat in London. A rather nice flat, too, especially for a university student. There was a ton of space and even a separate bedroom for Louis. When they moved in it was already furnished, all conservative and neutral colors, a few simple paintings, expensive-looking rugs here and there. When they first walked in, Louis just stood in the doorway and gaped. Harry pretended not to notice and went back to the bedroom to release the suitcase of both he and the pixie’s clothes, unbeknownst to Louis that he had gone shopping and bought basically an entire wardrobe for him.

When he returned, Louis was still standing in the same place as when he’d left.

“Harry, how much money do your parents _have_?” The boy shrugged.

“Not that much.”

“Then – how . . .?”

“I published a book.”

“You _what_?”

“I published a book. Of poems. About six months ago. I was already legal so the money went straight to me. I don’t think my parents even remember that I did it. They didn’t know how much money I got, they just were glad they didn’t have to pay for all of my education.”

“How much did you get?” Harry shrugged.

“Enough.” There was a brief moment of silence while that sunk in. Louis opened his mouth to speak, but Harry turned and walked to his bedroom. He left the door open, but Louis decided not to try to talk to him. The drive from Manchester had left them both tired, so he went to explore.

Hours later, when Louis was in his respective room, lying face-up on the bed, staring at the ceiling, Harry quietly knocked on his door.

“Come in,” he called. The tall boy entered, shutting the door quietly behind him. He walked over to the bed and crawled onto it, lying on his tummy and propping himself up by his elbows. They sat in silence for a little while before Harry reached out to stroke Louis’s hair softly.

“I like being alone,” he murmured, “but I don’t fancy being lonely.” The pixie’s bright blue eyes flicked to meet his and he rolled over onto his tummy. Harry tensed slightly at the new closeness, but then seemed to ignore it. “I guess I just got used to having you around me so much.” He offered a small smile. Louis grinned back.

“And I thought you didn’t like me.” Harry’s brow furrowed slightly and his smile widened.

“What? No, I – I like you quite a bit.”

“I like you too.” They both grinned at each other. Harry’s eyes flicked down to the pixie’s lips, so quickly that Louis almost missed it. His breath hitched. The mood was suddenly serious and their eyes met. Louis leaned slightly closer, his gaze switching down to Harry’s lips before back up to the green eyes for consent. The boy offered no protest, so he leaned even closer, their faces coming so close that they could feel each other’s breath, and their lips almost touched – but Harry shot up into a sitting position. Louis, shocked and off-balance, almost fell face-first into the comforter. He turned, moving to sit crisscross, facing Harry, who was sitting with his feet under his bum.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asked. Harry nervously locked his fingers together. “Do you not like me like that?”

“No, I – it’s not that, I – I’m not, um, very, like, good . . . or whatever, at that kind of stuff. I don’t have, like, a lot of experience.” Louis smiled fondly at him.

“Harry, don’t worry about it. Just let go. I’ll show you, it’s fun.” He brought his hand to the back of Harry’s neck, gently pulling him forward. The wide green eyes stayed trained on his blue ones, fearful yet trusting. Their faces came even closer and Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. Louis took a small breath, then stopped.

His fingers tingled and his vision was edged by black spots. A faint light-headedness started and he gasped.

“No –” he got out before the piercing pain grabbed his midsection. He cried out and his body bent in on itself.

“Louis?” Harry asked, startled, panic in his voice. Louis’s eyes were squeezed shut in pain but he forced them open at the sound of Harry’s voice.

“Harry,” he whispered, hardly audible, and then he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more Ziam explained in the next (hopefully) chapter, I promise! That's not the end of that story, hang in there ;)

The transportation was short, thankfully. Louis’s eyes popped open to exactly what he expected – headquarters: the familiar, gold-trimmed high ceiling, the marble supporters, and the pixies bustling about. He groaned, waiting for the marble feeling to go away. Once he figured he could move, he turned his head to the sight of Zayn, a depression pixie like him, but much older, seated in an outdoorsy backdoor patio-looking chair. Louis sat up, looking around and discovering that he was surrounded by a small lounge area with matching furniture to Zayn’s chair. He pulled his legs up crisscross and looked at Zayn expectantly.

“What the hell was that for?” A muscle in Zayn’s jaw twitched. Louis took in his tense position: he was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and his face held an expression of extreme concern.

“Lou, what are you _doing_?” Louis tensed.

“What do you mean?”

“You were about to kiss your person, you know –”

“Harry,” Louis interjected. He couldn’t help himself; “your person” just sounded so ordinary, and Harry was the complete opposite from the average person that pixies helped. Zayn’s expression grew even more disturbed.

“You were about to kiss _Harry_ ,” he corrected himself. “You know that’s a bad idea.”

“So what? And why were you watching, anyway?” Louis cringed internally at the childish defensiveness of his tone.

“I check up on you, Louis. Pixies are hardly ever friends like we are, so I want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“I’m not going to get hurt.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Zayn took a deep breath. “Look, I’m just worried about you. I was worried that you would get too close to Scarlet, too. And you almost did. Remember how much it hurt to leave her? Remember how much it hurt to be with a new person at all? You wouldn’t dream of letting Harry see it, no, but it was there. That intense longing, that pain . . . she was always on your mind. I’m right, I can see it in your eyes. It wasn’t even romantic, but the bond between both of you was almost unimaginable to pixies – you were like a brother to –” Louis’s teeth ground together.

“Stop,” he ordered. Zayn took a deep breath.

“See?” he said gently. “See how hard it is? And Harry . . . your relationship with him is already on the way to being much more powerful than that.” Louis’s hands balled into fists. His lower lip trembled at the idea of Scarlet – not even a full person away from her, this conversation was like rubbing salt in an open wound.

“It wasn’t that bad with Jake.” Louis’s argument was weak, less than half-hearted.

“Lou, you know that was different.” Oh, Louis knew. He knew it all too well. That thought had been in his mind for the longest time now – why Harry was so different from Jake. He could have sworn that he’d been in love then, but this was so much more powerful, concentrated. But he couldn’t figure out _why_. He offered no response; both of the pixies knew that Zayn was right. “Jake was only your third person, Louis. You weren’t emotionally developed enough to be legitimately in love. Pixies’ emotions don’t develop over a set amount of time, they develop based on experience, and you know that. You cared about Jake, I know, but that was – what’s the human term? – puppy love. This is a lot stronger, more intense.”

“This is about Liam, isn’t it?” Louis’s accusation came out as a whisper and Zayn balked. He offered no response, but readjusted his position nervously and squeezed his hands together. Louis’s voice came back on stronger now that he knew the heart of the argument. “Look, Zayn, I’m sorry about Liam. I know that sucked, I know it hurt, and I know it messed you up, but there’s no guarantee that it’s going to happen to me. Harry and Liam were two totally different situations, and we’re different pixies.” Zayn put his head in his hands, his fingers knitting into his hair.

“Liam’s dead.” Louis froze.

“What?” he whispered. Zayn’s hands fell from his hair, returning to their previous position, clasped together with his elbows on his knees, but his gaze stayed trained on the floor.

“He relapsed, but . . . I guess it got worse.” Louis scooted towards Zayn, looking up at him from his position on the floor.

“I’m really sorry, Zee,” he murmured. Zayn smiled a sad smile at the use of the old nickname and held out his wrist to Louis, showcasing the leather bracelet almost identical to his own. There were ten stones on his, and they took up more than half of his wrist. He turned the bracelet so that Louis saw the black line running through the white stone one away from the end.

“Liam’s,” Zayn said softly. Louis took Zayn’s hand in both of his, carefully examining the soiled stone. “I’m retired, Lou. That’s why I was able to watch you. I’m here all the time, I don’t help people anymore.” Louis looked up at Zayn silently.

“That’s not going to happen to me, Zayn.” He brought Zayn’s hand up to his face and nuzzled it with his cheek. “I appreciate your concern, I really, really do. But Harry is stronger than that, I know he is. He won’t commit suicide and I won’t be retired. I _promise_.” Zayn watched him carefully for a second, then smiled a small smile. He stood, and used the position of their hands to pull Louis to his feet as well.

“You better keep that promise, Lou-Lou.” Louis wrinkled his nose at the old nickname and pulled Zayn into a tight hug. They were silent for a moment, and Louis pressed a kiss to Zayn’s shoulder. He chuckled.

“I forgot that you were so touchy. I miss that, being here alone so much can get boring.” They pulled apart. “I realized we were never really apart at headquarters, we were always together, our entire lives.” Louis grinned.

“Yeah, we were really lucky that we were on break at the same time.”  Zayn smiled and pulled Louis back into a quick embrace.

“Come on, I’ll send you back,” he said when they pulled away. Louis stepped a few feet back and waved goodbye to Zayn. He closed his eyes, and soon was in transportation again. This time seemed longer; maybe because his mind was plagued with worry. He’d been able to convince Zayn that he’d be fine, but he hadn’t done so well with convincing himself.

Zayn had been right, and he knew it. He’d been pretty stupid, really, letting himself get so attached so quickly, but he’d just pushed any negative thoughts aside. He’d been so sure that the feelings weren’t mutual. Harry was always avoiding contact with him, or anyone really. Louis realized that it made him uncomfortable anyway, but he’d just convinced himself it meant that Harry wasn’t interested.

Honestly, if they’d kissed, it probably would have changed a lot of things. Louis’s thought process in leaning in for the kiss had basically been “fuck it.” He’d been expecting rejection, and when he didn’t receive it, he was just so thrilled that he didn’t want to stop. Now that he thought about it, there was no way that a relationship with Harry would end well. But what was he to do? He wasn’t even sure how strongly Harry felt for him. He reasoned that it probably didn’t matter. Humans were flexible little things; if Harry felt that the feelings weren’t reciprocated, he would move on and heal and Louis would leave and he would live his life happily. Louis’s feelings weren’t the priority in this situation; he would get over it, eventually. He would move on to help other people . . . sure, he’d always remember the tall, lanky, curly-haired boy that had trapped his heart, but feelings would fade . . . right?

Yes, he answered himself. They would. They had to. It would just take some time, but that was one of the down sides to being a pixie.

Just as he reached this conclusion, Louis was launched out of transportation and slammed into the marble sensation. He waited patiently now, eager to see Harry but unhappy to put his plan into action. The tingling feeling finally faded from his fingertips, and his bright blue eyes opened as he sat up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any grammar mistakes/silly typos I haven't revised this yet bear with me  
> If you leave a comment you get an internet cookie

The house was empty when Louis arrived. He got up and wandered into the kitchen, the oven clock informing him that it was 3:45 PM. He had no clue as to how long he’d been gone in Harry’s time, or what time Harry would be home. He stood in the kitchen for a while, motionless. The flat looked exactly the same as when he’d left, but that didn’t mean anything. It was Harry, after all.

After a bit of standing and letting his mind wander, Louis began to get cold. He realized that the flat had a distinct chill in it, and went to stand by the window. He pushed the curtains aside to reveal a grey winter day. Snow blanketed the tops of roofs and ice branched along the edges of windows. A definite cold air was coming from the glass, so Louis quickly pulled the curtain back in place and wandered to what Harry had informed him was his room. It looked exactly the same as when he’d left, a few things were tidied up, but for the most part, it looked like a tastefully decorated hotel room. He wandered around, opening random drawers and cabinets, like one does in the first night at a hotel room. He eventually came to the closet, and opened the French doors. He gasped at the sight in front of him. The previously empty closet was now full of every type of clothing imaginable – shorts, pants, sweats, boxers, t-shirts, hoodies, flannels, socks, all kinds of shoes, and even a couple beanies, all immaculately organized, and all exactly Louis’s taste. He gaped for a minute, taking in the elaborate wardrobe splayed in front of him. Eventually, the chill got to him again and he pulled a pair of sweats and the warmest-looking jumper. The inside of the sweatpants was feather-soft and cuddly warm. The jumper, plain black and slightly close-fitting, felt suspiciously luxurious, almost like cashmere. Louis shook the idea out of his head and discarded his previous outfit somewhere on the floor.

He passed the time mostly by thinking. He splayed out on the large bed of his room, kept an open door and a sensitive ear open for Harry’s arrival, and stared up at the ceiling, allowing his mind to wander. He imagined a happy university student Harry, exploring his newfound freedom and independence. He imagined the boy dutifully taking notes in class, intensely listening to every lecture by his professor. He imagined the previous autumn (or autumns, depending on just how long Louis had been gone), a pink-cheeked Harry bustling through the door in a soft brown coat, his hair wind-blown and a small smile on his face. Harry at a small coffee shop, or diner, or bakery, scrawling messily on a pad of paper, completely in the right place and at _home_.

The happy image was disturbed by the sound of the door unlocking. Louis hurriedly sat up, his stomach turning upside-down on itself. He leaned slightly so that he could see out of the doorway of his room.

Harry turned back to lock the door, then walked out of view. There was some bustling around for about five minutes before he came into sight again, this time holding a mug of something. He set it down on the table, just barely in Louis’s line of sight, and sat down in a chair angled slightly towards Louis’s bedroom door.

Louis slowly got up and walked towards the doorway as Harry pulled a journal out of his backpack. He opened it and began to write, completely engrossing himself in what he was doing. Louis watched carefully, and when he got a good look at the boy’s face, his stomach dropped.

The happy scenes he’d been imagining for Harry while he’d been gone obviously had not been the case. The boy was drastically pale, almost unhealthy looking. Dark circles were prominent under his eyes, and the corners of his mouth pulled down seemingly permanently. He seemed thinner, too, but it was hard to tell through the bulky sweater covering his body.

Louis took a deep breath. It had to be done. He stepped out of the room, his sock feet whispering across the carpet as he walked towards Harry. He threw a glance to the nearest clock – 8:19 PM. The boy remained unaware of the pixie standing less than ten feet from him until Louis spoke.

“Harry?” he said softly. The green eyes snapped to his and his pen dropped onto the paper.

“Louis,” he whispered, his voice incredulous. Louis stepped closer, his fingers reaching out to brush the surface of the table, all the while his gaze stayed locked on Harry.

“I – I’m back,” he said, and cleared his throat quietly. “I, um, I got called back to headquarters by my friend, and – sorry, how long have I been gone?” Harry’s eyebrows raised quickly, then shot down again. He moved from the position he’d seemed to be frozen in and glanced down at the watch on his wrist.

“Um . . . about four months.” Four months. _Wow_.

“Oh, I . . . wow. How have you been?” Real concern shone evident on Louis’s face and Harry smiled a small smile. He glanced Louis up and down, his smile widening into the tiniest of smirks. He gestured with his hand, waving Louis to a chair.

“Sit,” he insisted. Louis obliged, then continued to wait for an answer. Harry let out a deep breath. “Um, in answer to your question, I . . . It’s been rough.” His elbows rested on the table, hands clasped, and he leaned forward slightly. He looked down at the wood as he spoke, his eyes occasionally flicking to Louis’s but mostly not moving. “It’s a big change, university is so different from home. A lot of stress, too . . . my professor pushes me a lot because I’ve already published a book. I’m learning, but it’s been a big adjustment.” Although the news he was delivering wasn’t necessarily good, Louis was thrilled with how open Harry was being and how easily he was talking. Maybe he’d been able to make some progress while Louis had been gone. Harry let out a small huff of a laugh. “Actually, I, uh . . . at the beginning of the year, I got . . . pretty bad. There’s a lot of . . . new scars, but . . .” He trailed off, and Louis watched his face grow serious. Neither spoke for a moment, then Harry seemed to shake himself mentally. “So, where did you go?” His gaze turned to meet Louis’s eyes, but this time stayed put. Louis suddenly became aware of himself – he’d been so still, so caught up in Harry talking, and he adjusted his position slightly.

“I went back to headquarters,” he said softly, rubbing one thumb with the other.

“Yeah, but – _why_ did you go?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“We have time.” Louis took a deep breath and reluctantly dove into a description of his time away from Harry. He was careful not to disclose any of his thoughts or concerns on their specific situation, to just state the facts of what he and Zayn had discussed.

“Wait,” Harry said, about five minutes into Louis’s monologue. “How did you know Zayn? Like . . how were you friends?”

“Oh. Um, I guess I never told you. There’s like, a period of time for pixies before we go out and help people. It’s sort of like your school, I guess, but much, much shorter. A lot of the knowledge comes from experience, but there’s some obvious “Do’s” and “Do Not’s” that they teach us in groups. Anyway, Zayn and I were best friends during that – rug rats, or sand bunnies, you could call it. Normally pixies have those friends during the schooling but then they just never see each other again. We were lucky, we happened to be on break at the same time. I know it doesn’t sound like a lot of time, but for a pixie friendship, that’s a _ton_.”

“But didn’t you say that Zayn was older than you?” Louis nodded. “But how? If you were at headquarters at the same time?”

“Oh, age is different with pixies. Sometimes I forget. It’s all based on the number of people we help. For instance, I could help two, and Zayn could help twenty, and we’d end up back at the headquarters together, but he would be older because he’d just helped more people and was much, much more mature than I.” Harry nodded at this point, and Louis moved on to resume his tale.

When he began to mention Liam, Harry perked up slightly.

“Who was Liam?” he asked.

“Um.” Louis sighed. “Are you sure you want to hear that?” Harry nodded. “You might not like what it means for . . .” Louis couldn’t bring himself to say “us,” but Harry seemed to understand and simply nodded.

“Well, Zayn is a depression mental illness pixie like me, and Liam was one of his people. Liam self-harmed . . . Zayn never told me much about it, just that he burned himself, I don’t know how or how often or how severe, but Zayn was so experienced at that point that it must have been pretty bad. That’s another thing, the greater our number of people, the more difficult our next person becomes.” Harry’s hand absentmindedly went to his forearm, and Louis tried to ignore it.

“But anyway, Liam and Zayn, they – they fell in love. Like, madly, desperately in love. And it . . . it just didn’t end well.”

“How?” Louis took a deep breath.

“Liam killed himself.” His throat thickened at the idea of Harry, lying cold and lifeless, slit wrists or a roped neck or stomach full of pills, and he pushed his hands down into his lap – an old worrying habit. Harry remained silent, and Louis took another deep breath before he spoke again. “Zayn’s retired now. That’s what happens when one of your people commits suicide. He stays at headquarters. There’s not much to do, he watches me sometimes, but from what I’ve heard about retired pixies, it’s boring and lonely for him right now. He didn’t talk to me about it – I wasn’t there very long – but I imagine that he’s very sad a lot of the time. Soon he’ll have to start teaching the younger pixies, or find a mate and have a child, but for now he has some ‘time off.’ The problem with that is that there’s nothing to distract him.”

“What does Zayn look like?” Louis started a bit at the question and a faint blush colored Harry’s cheeks. “I just keep trying to picture him, and I can’t – does he look anything like you?” Louis smiled a small smile.

“No, I wish . . . he’s kind of what you’d imagine for a movie star. He has dark hair, rather tall, tan skin, brown eyes with long lashes, perfect bone structure, that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” Harry’s response was quiet, and Louis raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing.” But he wouldn’t meet Louis’s eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re _jealous_.”

“No!” But Harry’s response was a little too quick, and Louis’s eyes widened.

“Why?” he inquired, his voice incredulous. Harry’s cheeks were rose red now.

“I – I don’t know, you just talk so highly of him, and you seem really close, and he sounds really perfect . . .” Louis’s face lit up in a fond smile.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he teased, a light tone but a serious meaning behind the words. Harry looked up at him, smiling a little when he saw the honesty in the pixie’s eyes, then neither of them spoke.

“Lou?” Harry whispered a few moments later. Louis tried to ignore the almost tangible softening of his heart at the nickname.

“Yeah?”

“Would you – um, can you tell me about Scarlet now?” His green eyes stayed trained on his own hands, which twined together then pulled apart, curled into fists then flattened, and finally came to rest on the table. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on keeping them still, and Louis’s fondness grew even more at this.

“Okay,” he agreed. Harry looked up at him in surprise, but quickly wiped the expression off his face. Louis sighed.

“It’s probably not as big as you’re thinking – the reason I didn’t want to tell you about her before was because it hurt too much. It was difficult, leaving her, but she was ready and I had to go. We were close, really close. She cut . . . among other things, sometimes she bit her hand, hit her thighs, burned her hips. The weird thing was that she had a specific area for everything – she would cut her forearms, but never her hips, she would never burn her thighs or bite anywhere but her hand. She lived in Canada in about 2050; I was with her from the time she was fourteen until she was nineteen. We had a very strong relationship. Her brother was killed when she was twelve – he was riding his bike and hit a rock and skidded right into the path of a truck. She loved him a lot, he would always distract her when her parents fought, so she wouldn’t hear the sounds of her father beating her mom. I guess I became like a brother to her, and she was like a little sister to me.” He smiled, his mind travelling back to her and how strong she’d looked when he left. He had been so proud; she came so far.

“What did she look like?”

“Oh.” Louis forgot about that part. “Very pretty, really. Pale white skin, dyed jet-black hair, bright, intense blue eyes. She was the kind of person that made you do a double take, she was so stunning.” Harry nodded, and again there was a small silence.

“Louis?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for telling me that.” And he got up, taking his backpack with him into his room, halfheartedly pushing the door behind him so that a wide space sat between it and the wall.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just really excited for this update okay

Louis paced about in his room, the rational and desiring parts of his brain battling intensely. He wanted so badly to go crawl into Harry’s bed, but that would be less than beneficial to his plan. Also, it was late, and he didn’t want to disturb the boy. Also, he didn’t want to get Harry’s hopes up. _Also_ , he was nervous. But he really, really, really wanted to. He groaned and collapsed onto his bed. He curled into a ball, noticing for the millionth time the softness of the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d dressed in for bed, but his mind quickly flickering back to Harry. He groaned again, even louder this time. After some staring at the ceiling in frustration, he gave up and left his room. The flat was completely dark, and he walked slowly, making sure not to bump into anything. He eventually got to Harry’s doorway, and he pushed the door from its half open position.

A definite sliver of light came from the doorway to the bathroom. Louis waited, assuming Harry would be out soon, as almost no noise was coming from the room. A few moments passed before Louis grew uneasy. He stepped closer to the door, listening intently for any sort of noise. A small gasp floated to his ears as he neared the light and looked into the crack of the doorway.

Harry sat on the lid of the closed toilet. As Louis’s eyes adjusted he saw that the boy’s head was tilted back and his eyes were shut. His gaze travelled lower, where he took in the sight of Harry’s hand moving in a rapid up and down motion. Louis’s breath hitched and he immediately felt the tingly feeling of arousal dancing at the pit of his stomach. He felt himself hardening in his sweats and bit his lip, deliberating on what to do. An immense guilt hung over him for being turned on, but the scene before him was just so _hot_ that he didn’t really care.

Harry let out a small moan and Louis’s decision was made; his hand drifted down and he began to palm himself through his sweatpants. The speed of Harry’s hand increased along with the pressure of Louis’s, and they both let out small sighs. Louis could tell that Harry was getting desperately close as his breathing rate and the volume of his sounds were increasing. Harry let out a serious of small grunts before uttering one word that made Louis freeze.

His name, high and needy and breathy and desperate. Louis felt the pressure against his hand increase and he swallowed thickly. Without much thought, he pushed open the bathroom door completely and stepped quietly towards the boy. Harry’s eyes were still closed and he remained unaware of Louis’s presence until the pixie’s hands trapped his jaw and pulled him up into a kiss. His eyes snapped open and his hand stopped moving in shock, but his eyes quickly closed and his hand began to pump up and down again hesitantly. Louis straddled him on the toilet, pressing the bulge in his sweats against Harry’s hand, which quickly moved to the small of Louis’s back to push him closer. They both gasped in pleasure and Louis’s hand slipped down to finish the job that Harry started. Harry’s mouth moved down to suck at the pixie’s collarbone as they both continued to let out small moans and grunts. Louis knew that Harry was getting close when his mouth stilled and parted to let out hot, quick pants against his shoulder. He increased the speed of his hand and leaned down slightly to whisper in Harry’s ear.

“Come for me,” he murmured, and Harry let out a loud cry as he spilled hot onto Louis’s hand. He slowed down the movements of his arm gradually as Harry came down from his high. He grabbed a piece of toilet paper and wiped his hand, discarding of the sheet in the wastebasket. His blue eyes found the pair of green ones, and they held eye contact for a while before Harry’s hand came up to cover the now straining prominence in Louis’s sweat pants. The pixie gasped and brought his fingers into the brown curls. Harry tugged the waistband of his sweatpants the slightest bit, still keeping most everything covered, but still managed to slide his hand underneath both the sweatpants and boxers. He gripped Louis’s cock, and really, that was all it took for Louis to come, hot and wet and sudden, into his pants. Harry’s eyes widened slightly and Louis looked up at him through his lashes, panting.

“Sorry,” he breathed. Harry smiled shyly and brought his hand out from the waistband of his boxers to rest on Louis’s waist.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly. “Um, not that I minded – at all – but . . . why did you come in here?” Louis shrugged and placed his hands on either side of Harry’s jaw and rubbed in small circles on his cheeks with his thumbs.

“I wanted to see you.” Harry smiled a small but genuine smile and Louis got up from his lap and reached for his hand. He pulled him towards the bedroom, shutting the bathroom light off on the way. They stood by the edge of the bed, facing each other in the complete darkness.

“Did that really just happen?” Harry whispered. Louis chuckled and reached out for him, placing on hand on his waist and the other behind his neck. Harry’s body tensed the slightest bit, automatically cringing away from the hand on his torso, but the movement was so tiny that Louis barely noticed and pulled him down into a kiss – their first _real_ kiss; not driven by lust and horniness, but simply by the romantic desire for each other. Harry kissed him back willingly, his hands drifting to land on Louis’s shoulders.

They broke apart and curled up together in the bed, facing each other. They were silent as their eyes adjusted. Louis watched as Harry’s face became more prominent from the darkness. His eyes were shut, and his dark eyelashes fanned out to caress his cheekbones. Louis’s hand reached out to lie on the boy’s neck and his thumb stroked back and forth across the milky white skin of his jaw.

“Lou?” Harry asked softly, his eyes still closed. Louis’s stomach fluttered again at the use of the nickname.

“Yeah?”

“Are you scared?” Harry’s eyes opened and immediately met Louis’s.

“Of what?”

“Of what’s going to happen . . . with us.” Louis held his gaze, but didn’t respond. Harry’s eyes explored his, then he looked away, a defeated expression plaguing his features. Louis moved closer and pulled Harry’s chin up gently. He pressed their lips together, comforting, soft, and sweet.

“Darling, we’ll be okay,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead before pulling him close for a cuddle. Harry willingly nuzzled into him, and Louis really wasn’t worried, at least not then, with a perfect boy in his arms and in his heart.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kinda sucks idk better smut coming soon ily all

The next morning Louis woke to a dimly lit bedroom with Harry sitting up next to him, reading. He stretched, his toes almost reaching the bottom edge of the bed.

“Morning,” Louis mumbled.

“Good morning,” Harry said quietly.

“What time is it?”

“10:43.”

“Didn’t you have class?” Louis buried his face in his pillow, not wanting to disrupt the comfort of the position he was in by sitting up.

“No, today is the first day of winter break.”

“Oh.” There was a brief silence before Louis finally sat up. “I’m going to shower.” He hesitated. “Do you want to join?” he asked cautiously. Harry blushed deep red and shut his book.

“Um, no thanks, I’m going to – um, cook breakfast.” Louis’s cheeks colored faintly pink.

“Okay,” he said quietly as he left the room.

The steam from the shower rose up and out of the shower door, just like Louis liked. His entire room and bathroom were fully stocked, besides the full closet, Harry had supplied him with three different brands of bar soap, five different scented body washes, two brands of shampoo, mousse, gel, a hair drier, plush towels, face wash, razors, lotion, and a bath robe.

Louis opted for the vanilla scented body wash, the smell mixing in with the steam and filling the bathroom with the sweet aroma. When he got out of the shower, he dried off with one of the ridiculously soft towels and stood in front of his closet, deliberating on what to wear.

On one hand, he had basically just been rejected and felt like doing nothing and wearing loose sweats and a jumper, but on the other, he and Harry had had a definite thing last night, even if they hadn’t talked about it, and he wanted to wear another clingy cashmere sweater and jeans. His laziness came out and he decided against anything but sweats, so he pulled on a warm navy blue sweatshirt and black sweatpants.

He hesitantly wandered into the kitchen, the smell of something good cooking growing stronger as he neared it. Harry stood in front of a pan on the stove, his curly hair in an adorable fuzzy mess, and a black sweatshirt hanging on his thin frame. Louis walked over next to him to peer in the pan, which held two pieces of bread.

“That smells good,” Louis commented.

“Do you want some?” The pixie stepped back, wandering towards the table.

“No, thanks . . . I don’t get hungry, remember?”

“Oh. Right. Manners, I guess.”

Louis sat down at the table and Harry soon joined him. He watched as the boy ate – the method one that he recognized. Harry was an insecure eater; pushing food around on his plate more than moving it to his mouth, looking around the room instead of down at his food, and taking small, slow bites. Louis frowned as he watched, but decided not to say anything until it appeared that Harry was finished eating.

“So . . . are we going to talk about last night?” Harry shrugged, then got up and set his plate in the sink.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Well, I guess I want to know where you stand. What you think about . . . us.” Harry turned towards him, leaning against the counter.

“I haven’t thought a lot about it.”

“How do you feel about me?” Harry blushed and looked down at his hands.

“I like you,” he said quietly.

“So . . .” Louis trailed off, watching Harry carefully.

“So I still don’t know how you feel about me.” Louis started.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He stood then, and walked towards Harry. He grabbed the boy’s hands in his own, brought them up to his mouth, and kissed them. He looked at up Harry through his eyelashes, then cautiously brought their lips together. The kiss slowly deepened, and Louis shuffled closer, pressing their bodies together. Harry wormed to the side, breaking the kiss and removing himself from the pinned position against the counter. Louis’s eyes opened and they searched Harry’s green ones, but he found no answers there and his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“If you want to talk, I’ll be in my room,” he said softly, dropping Harry’s hands and retreating to his room.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis spent the day in his room alone. Some time he was pacing, debating with himself on whether or not to go out and try to spark more conversation with Harry. Other times he was lying face down on the bed, worrying about Harry, wondering what was going on in the boy’s head.

Finally, at about 8 PM, he gave up and decided that he was being too overdramatic. Harry was his priority and he’d already agreed with himself that his feelings were not going to rule him anymore. Also, he _missed_ Harry. He was worried about him. He hadn’t heard a peep from the boy since breakfast, so he ventured out of his room.

The flat was silent from right outside his door. The kitchen was clean of the few dishes from breakfast, and the only light came from a lamp in the living room. He crept towards Harry’s room and stood in front of the closed door. He took a deep breath for bravery and knocked softly on the door.

He waited for a few seconds, and received no answer, so he nervously grabbed the door handle and turned it. He pushed the door open slowly, calling out a soft “Harry?” before pushing it open all the way.

Harry sat on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest. He looked up at Louis in surprise, but hurriedly swiped his hands across his cheeks and eyes.

“Louis,” he said shakily. Louis paused in the doorway.

“Harry?” As if pushed, he suddenly rushed to his side on the bed. “What’s wrong?” He cautiously placed a hand on the boy’s back and rubbed in small back and forth motions. Harry shook his head, digging his palms into his eyes.

“Me,” he whispered, barely audible. Louis scooted closer to him, keeping his hand on his back.

“What’s wrong with you, darling?” Louis made sure to keep his voice soft and warm. Harry took a shake breath and his legs dropped into a crisscross position and his hands fell into his lap.

“Everything.” His voice cracked, but Louis waited for him to continue. “I’m so insecure about everything, to the point that we can’t even kiss properly. There are so many things wrong with my body; my ugly scars and my stupid pale skin and the chub on my hips and my fat thighs and my small biceps and I just don’t look good, especially in comparison to you, you’re so fit and I eat so much and you never eat anything and I’m so stupid, all of this is getting in the way of what I really want with you and I guess what you want to, even though I have no idea why someone like you would want it with someone like me.” His breath came out shaky and labored after that and Louis continued to rub his back. “I’m so sorry, Louis,” Harry choked out, so quiet it was barely even a whisper.

Louis reached out with his free hand and guided Harry’s chin up and to the right so that his blue eyes met the green ones. He pressed a soft kiss to the boy’s lips, then his hand travelled down to the neck of the hoodie Harry was wearing. He slowly pulled the zipper down, keeping eye contact with Harry, whose eyes were still glimmering with tears.

Louis pushed the hoodie off of the boy’s shoulders and pulled it off of his arms. He moved so that he was sitting in the Harry’s lap, both of his hands on either side of his neck. He trailed his hands down and out, tracing along Harry’s collarbone, which stuck out more than he would have liked, and roaming over his shoulders and down his biceps. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and Louis pressed another light kiss to his lips. He brought one of the boy’s forearms up in between their bodies, skating his hand across the bumpy surface, then doing the same with his other forearm. Harry opened his eyes as Louis did this, watching the pixie’s fingers cover the marred surface, then looked up into his blue eyes. Louis met his gaze and pressed their foreheads together as his hands went back up to the boy’s shoulders, then slightly down, feeling the sporadic bumps in this area as well, then down his chest, his ribs not present by sight but definite under his fingertips. Harry’s eyes shut again as Louis’s hands skimmed down his sides and around his hips to the small of his back, then up to caress his shoulder blades. Louis brought his hands to the bottom of his own jumper, then lifted it over his head and tossed it to the side.

He reached for Harry’s hands, guiding them to his own waist and placing them there before cupping Harry’s face and kissing him soft and sweet. Harry’s hands began their own journey across Louis’s body, starting at the pronounced curve of his back, up, then down, moving to scale his sides, then around to his tummy. They slid up the pixie’s chest, then across his shoulders. Louis dropped his hands so that Harry could move his hands across his biceps and forearms. Harry’s hands trailed down to his wrist, then their fingertips touched and their hands laced together. Louis’s mouth trailed across the boy’s jaw and down his neck, and he pulled their hands apart and pushed him back on the bed.

He tugged both Harry’s sweatpants and boxers off, his hands going to the boy’s scarred hips, thumbs skating over the barely defined hipbones, then moving down to trace along his thighs. Harry’s head fell back on the mattress as Louis pressed his lips up Harry’s thigh in kisses, sucking occasionally.

“Louis,” Harry gasped. Harry’s cock was almost fully hard now, pressed against his tummy, and Louis was in a similar situation in his sweats. He moved so that he was hovering over the boy and pressed their mouths together, cautiously bringing his hips down and resting his weight on top of him. Harry’s hands knotted themselves into Louis’s hair.

“Want you to fuck me,” he murmured underneath the pixie’s lips. Louis pulled back, looking Harry in the eye.

“Are you sure?” Harry nodded, his hands still entangled in the pixie’s brown hair. He used their position to tug Louis down slightly and suck at the area just underneath his jaw. Louis stifled a groan. “Do you – do you have anything?” Harry turned his head and motioned with his chin towards the bedside table.

“There’s lube in the top drawer.” Louis reached over into the drawer and found the unused bottle.

“Why do you have this?” Harry shrugged and blushed.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I like to be prepared.” Louis grinned and pressed their lips together again. He wormed down so that he was between the boy’s legs and prepped his finger with lube. He nudged Harry’s thighs apart, looking up to the boy for reassurance. Harry nodded down at him and Louis carefully slipped his index finger in. Harry’s fingers dug into the bed and Louis paused while he adjusted. He slowly pushed his finger in deeper, then pulled it out and back in.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured to Harry, who was tensing up. Harry took a deep breath and forced his body to go limp. Once Louis’s finger slipped easily in and out of Harry, he added a second finger. Harry fisted the comforter but stayed relaxed. Louis cupped Harry’s hip in his hand as he fingered him, and soon the boy was pushing himself down on Louis’s fingers. Soon the pixie added a third finger, scissoring and moving his hand faster as Harry moaned and mewled Louis’s name.

“Louis,” he whined, “please.” Louis nodded and tugged his own sweats and boxers off, then slicked himself up with lube cupped the base of his cock in his hand and lined up with Harry’s entrance. His other hand went to the bed to support his weight.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, licking his lips nervously. One of Harry’s hands slipped down to rub the back of Louis’s neck.

“Yes,” he whispered. Louis nodded slightly and cautiously pushed in. Harry’s back arched and his hand that was still in Louis’s hair tightened.

“Relax,” Louis murmured, ignoring his own needs and stroking the boy’s cheek with his thumb. Harry breathed in through his nose and relaxed his body. Once he had had a few moments to adjust, Louis pushed in farther and adjusted his position so that his elbows were on the bed on either side of Harry’s head. He pressed their mouths together, licking into the boy’s mouth and sucking on his tongue. They broke apart and Louis’s thumb stroked one of the slightly damp curls on Harry’s forehead.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as his hand reached back to run down Harry’s thigh, pulling up at the knee and hitching it onto his own hip. Harry did the same with his other leg and Louis pushed all the way into him. He let out a moan at the warmth and Harry reached up to suck at his neck.

“Louis,” he whispered into the warm skin, “move. Please.” Louis obliged, pulling out then thrusting back in. Harry’s finger pressed on his back and he repeated the action, causing Harry to whimper.

“Are you okay?” Louis asked between pants. Harry nodded, his head falling back on the mattress again.

“Faster,” he breathed. Louis willingly obeyed, picking up the pace and power of his thrusts as Harry fell apart beneath him, whining and moaning. The pixie slipped one of his hands between their bodies and wrapped it around Harry’s erection and began to pump up and down. Harry let out a moan louder than ever before, and cried out Louis’s name.

“So gorgeous,” Louis breathed between pants, coordinating the movements of his hand with the ones of his hips. Harry’s fingernails raked down his back, the pain so good that Louis could feel the stinging lines that they left. His thrusts grew sloppier as he neared the edge, and he could tell that Harry was close too by the way he began to push himself down onto Louis’s cock. Louis leaned down to whisper in the boy’s ear.

“Come for me, beautiful.” Harry let out a load moan and he spilled onto the pixie’s hand, and Louis soon followed, releasing hot and slowing his thrusts as he rode out his high. He slid out of Harry and collapsed next to him on the bed. He leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed a random piece of cloth and wiped his hand off.

“Louis?” Harry turned his head to look towards the pixie and Louis did the same.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon Harry is kinky Harry can you tell

Harry stumbled into the kitchen the next morning to see Louis standing over the stove. Confused, he went to the pixie’s side, looking into the pan.

“Good morning,” Louis murmured.

“Morning,” Harry said, his voice rough with sleep. “Why are you cooking?”

“I’m making pancakes.” Harry eyed the stack of pancakes on a plate beside the stove.

“You’re making a lot.” Louis slid the pancake in the pan onto the plate and turned off the stove. He turned towards Harry, sliding his arms around the boy’s waist and pecking his lips.

“I’m cooking for two.”

“You’re eating?”

“Mhm.” Louis released Harry and turned towards the pancakes, dividing them up onto two plates. “It bothers you that I don’t eat anything, so I’m going to eat with you.”

“Really?” Harry asked, disbelief in his voice as Louis took the two plates over to the table.

“Really. Could you grab some forks?” Harry obliged, still shocked as Louis got out syrup and butter.

They sat down together and Harry looked over at Louis unsurely. Louis smiled an encouraging smile at him and promptly began buttering his pancakes. Harry followed suit, pausing and watching as Louis cut and took a large bite. He grinned a closed-lipped grin as he chewed and Harry cracked a small, fond smile. They ate in silence for a while. Louis watched Harry eating now, noting a drastic improvement. He seemed much more comfortable now, and he was taking definite, steady bites, not just pushing the food on his plate around. About two-thirds of the way through his pancakes, Harry spoke.

“I’ve only kissed one person besides you.” Louis looked up at him, his eyebrows raised in surprise, the food in his mouth a bulge in his cheek. Harry didn’t look at him as he continued to talk. “It was in year ten. The school I went to . . . everyone was pretty homophobic. I wasn’t popular, but I had my group of friends. There was this one guy, and he was the only openly gay kid in the entire school. He didn’t really have many friends, but most people left him alone. He wasn’t, like, intimidating, but he looked like he could hold his own in a fight. Anyway, in December he started flirting with me. I don’t really know how, but it evolved into a thing. It just kind of . . . went, but we never made it official or whatever. Then there was this New Year’s party. It was kind of slow, I was just hanging out with my friends for a while. I got up to go get something and bumped into him – I hadn’t even known he was there. I kind of forgot about my friends and we went off and talked together. We were two of the only people there anywhere close to being sober, but it was really nice. We went outside – the house had this big patio, and outside wasn’t nearly as crowded as inside because it was cold, but neither of us cared. Anyway, that was the first time he kissed me. And it was just really nice, you know? It was dark and there was a really thin layer of snow on the ground and we could hear the music from inside, and people shouting and laughing but at the same time it was far away, and we kept kissing and it was so cold and he was so warm . . .” Harry paused, tucking his bottom lip in between his teeth. “Someone – someone got pictures. I don’t know how, because we were off by ourselves in this little area that wasn’t easily seen from anywhere, and it was really really dark . . . but we were probably both really caught up in it. Anyway, the pictures spread. He didn’t care, obviously, he was out already, but he didn’t really care how it was hurting me.” Harry’s voice sounds choked, like it was about to crack. “That’s what hurt the most, I think. That he just didn’t care – nobody did. My friends abandoned me, no one wanted to talk to me anymore. I was the kid that everyone talked about, walking down the hall. I mean, eventually it died down, but still people didn’t want to talk to me, or hang out with me, or even sit near me. And when I started cutting, I wore long sleeves all the time. People used to think I was a freak, wearing sweatshirts in May. Year eleven I attempted suicide. Someone that went to my school lived across the street, and they saw the ambulance. Somehow their parents found out and told them, then before I knew it the whole school knew. People would whisper about me, throw paper balls and airplanes with the words “freak” and “cutter” and “emo” and “fag” and just about everything you can think of. My family didn’t care – Gem was just starting college and my dad had just gotten a big promotion at his job. Everything was going so well for them, they didn’t want anything to ruin their happy family.” Harry’s brow furrowed suddenly, a sour expression taking over his face.

“And people don’t understand, they – they get scared, they see the scars and they look at you different. It doesn’t matter if you’re two days or two months or two years clean, they won’t look at you the same. It just makes it worse, I try so hard to stop and be more ‘normal,’ but then people still give me that _look_ , like I’m some circus freak and that just destroys everything that I built up.” His voice was practically hysterical now, the words flying out of his mouth. “It’s just like, what’s the point? It doesn’t matter if I’ve stopped if everything is still going to be the same.” Harry barely got those words out of his mouth before Louis was out of his chair, on his knees in front of Harry, grabbing his hands in his own.

“No, Harry, that’s not it at all.” Louis’s voice was slightly frantic as his thumbs stroked back and forth on Harry’s hands. “That’s not true. It matters because you matter. People may look at you the same but that’s not important because when you stop cutting you help yourself, you make yourself healthier, and that matters because _you_ matter. It’s saving your life, which is important. And if you think that you don’t matter to anyone, then look at me.” Louis’s blue eyes searched Harry’s green ones, and his voice grew soft. “I’m on my knees in front of you, trying to get you to understand that you’re important, that you matter. If you need an example of someone that you matter to, take me. You matter to me, Harry.”

Harry rushed forward, pressing their lips together hard. Louis kissed him back cautiously, rubbing back and forth on Harry’s hands as they flattened on his thighs.

Harry was the one to pull back, pressing their foreheads together.

“I need to shower,” he murmured, and pulled back and went to his room.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis got in the shower immediately after he heard the pipes shudder dry, indicating that Harry had finished his own. He had been left wondering after breakfast and was eager to go talk to Harry and see if his words had made any impact, but he forced himself to take a long shower. He wanted to give the boy some space.

The story Harry had told him played through his mind as the water streaked red ribbons of heat onto his skin. He empathized for the boy, he really did, but the main impact the story had had on him was that he was thrilled that Harry was opening up to him. He could almost taste the progress they would be able to make soon.

When Louis figured he’d been standing in the shower long enough, he got out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He ruffled his hair with another towel until it was damp instead of sopping wet and combed it out in front of the mirror. He turned around so that his back was to the mirror and leaned against the counter. He pressed the towel he’d used on his hair into his face, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent from his shower. He breathed out into the towel, pressing his lips into the warm spot his breath made and jumping when a pair of hands placed on his hips.

He dropped the towel and looked up at Harry, who was looking down at the pixie’s mouth and slowly edging closer, his own thick, pink lips parted as hot air skated between them. Their lips met in a soft kiss, and when they pulled apart Harry smiled a small, embarrassed grin.

“Um . . . I wanted to . . . ask you something, but – but I’m not sure how to phrase it.” His cheeks tinged pink and Louis bit back a smile at how cute he was.

“Just say it,” he encouraged. His hands reached up and skated across Harry’s biceps.

“Well, I – you know I’m not exactly . . . experienced.” His cheeks blushed even more, the color reaching towards red. Louis nodded, waiting for him to go on.

“Yeah, and?”

“Well, I – I was just wondering if . . . if you would, um, like . . . y’know, teach me . . . stuff.” The corners of Louis’s mouth immediately turned up into a wide grin. Harry blushed even deeper and groaned. He bent down and buried his face in the pixie’s neck.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Louis soothed, his hand reaching up and carding in Harry’s curls. “I smiled because I’m glad you asked – I’d love to.” Harry remained silent, his face pressed into the warm skin of Louis’s neck. “Specifically, what kind of stuff?” Louis snickered when this caused a small, embarrassed groan from the boy.

“I don’t know, like . . . how to give a blowjob,” Harry muttered, barely understandable. Louis chuckled and took his hand, leading him into his own bedroom. He pushed Harry back onto the bed and crawled on top of him. Harry wormed up so that they were in the center of the bed and looked up at Louis with wide eyes. The pixie leaned down to trail his mouth along Harry’s neck.

“It’s not hard,” he breathed into the hot skin. “Once you get one it just kind of . . . comes to you.” Suddenly his hand slipped between their bodies and he began to palm Harry’s semi through his sweats. Harry gasped, his hips bucking up into the pressure as Louis sucked a love bite into the place where his neck met his shoulder.

Louis didn’t waste any time; soon he was scooting down and tugging Harry’s sweats and boxers down and off, watching as the boy’s cock slapped up against his stomach. He gripped the base of it with a tight fist as Harry looked down at him through his eyelashes. The pixie started slow – taking only the tip in his mouth almost teasingly, tracing his tongue around it and tightening his hand. Harry fisted the bed sheets, his head pressing back against the mattress as small moans left his lips. Louis took him in further, hollowing his mouth and beginning to bob his head up and down. On each “down” movement, he went further and further. He couldn’t take the boy in entirely – he’d never really been able to deep-throat, and Harry wasn’t small – but he relaxed his throat anyway and covered what he didn’t with his mouth with his hand. He anticipated Harry bucking up into the wetness of his mouth and his free hand came up to pin the boy’s hips down.

Harry was panting now, small whimpers rising from the back of his throat. Louis swirled his tongue and continued to bob his head as Harry grew closer to the edge and finally released with a loud cry, continuing to pant while he rode out his high and Louis swallowed every last bit.

The pixie let Harry’s sensitive cock slip out of his mouth and wormed back up so that they were face to face.

“You just do that,” he said with a smirk, slightly out of breath. Harry returned a small smile, which suddenly turned almost devilish as he rolled over on top of Louis, sucking and nipping at his collarbone. The pixie gasped in surprise and his eyes fluttered shut as Harry mouthed along his chest and tummy, teasingly close to his throbbing erection. Harry hesitantly gripped the base just as Louis had done with him and looked up at the pixie through his eyelashes as he licked a stripe along a vein from where his hand stopped to the tip. Louis let out a small sound that was half-moan, half-whimper and his fingers carded into Harry’s curls. Harry quickly went to work, taking in the head and sucking, twirling his tongue around it, mimicking Louis perfectly and possibly even doing it better.

He took him in even farther, hollowing his cheeks. Louis watched, mesmerized at just how gorgeous the boy was while sucking him off. His lips were flushed and slightly swollen from kisses and what he was doing now and his eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones. Harry took even more of Louis in his mouth, and the pixie was just plain shocked at how well he was doing, but his astonishment soon grew when Harry removed his hand and took the his cock in completely, his throat relaxing and his tongue working around it as Louis gasped and his fingers tensed in the brown curls.

“Harry, I’m gonna come,” Louis panted, feeling the familiar burning heat curling in his tummy. Harry did nothing, just continued to suck the pixie off with everything he had. Louis gritted his teeth and released into the boy’s mouth, a moan bursting from the back of his throat before his body relaxed as he came down from his high and tried to regain his breathing pattern. Harry drew back and returned to his position next to Louis on the bed. The pixie looked over at him with slightly sleepy eyes.

“Was that okay?” Harry asked softly. Louis chuckled.

“If that was ‘okay,’ I hope you’re ‘okay’ at everything else, too.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoooo if you leave comments I'll be your best friend  
> or message me at prostitutelou.tumblr.com

Louis spent the next couple weeks getting to know Harry on a more intimate level. The first thing that he learned was that Harry was really horny _all the time_. After the first couple times they had sex, Harry became more comfortable in revealing his body, he was pretty much all over Louis. Multiple times, when the pixie was cooking in the kitchen, Harry came up behind him, pressing their bodies flush together and sucking on his neck. They were almost never alone in the shower, and they often fell asleep in the middle day from pure laziness and exhaustion.

Not that Louis minded. He enjoyed exploring with Harry, discovering the things that really turned him on. He found that, when they were making out, he could make Harry whimper and press hard against him when he tugged on the curly locks. He found that, although the other boy would never admit it, he loved when Louis leaned down and whispered things in his ear as he was pounding into him.

Harry discovered things too. He found that he could make this pixie gasp and moan when he grabbed the lube and slicked Louis’s cock up himself. He also found that love bites were a major turn-on, to the point that Louis’s neck, shoulders, hips, and even thighs were covered in bruises of varying sizes and colors by the ending of the break.

One night, they were cuddling in Harry’s bed, the room around them completely dark. Harry was curled around Louis, their legs intertwined, torsos pressed together. Louis was drifting in and out of sleep until Harry softly cleared his throat.

“Can I ask you something?” he whispered. Louis’s thumb rubbed back and forth in its place on Harry’s shoulder.

“Anything,” Louis murmured.

“What’s bad about being a pixie?” Louis paused, his mind flashing back to the first night they’d met, when Harry had first asked that question. It seemed so long ago, but really it had only been a matter of months. Harry waited patiently, resting his hand on the hot skin of the pixie’s chest.

“It’s lonely,” Louis finally whispered. “You’re really alone. I never really had a family. It was training then straight off to help people. As a pixie, your job is literally to be there for everyone else. _You’re_ the friend, _you’re_ the crying shoulder, _you’re_ the one that takes on the massive duty of helping people get better. We get attached to the people that we help, and then once it’s done, we never see them again. I don’t know how everyone that I loved turned out. The only thing I know about any of them is that Marcy relapsed, and I don’t even know how or why. I have an idea, but I’ll never be certain. I’ll never know how long any of them lived, or if they died too soon, or if they even remembered me.” His voice cracked but he just kept talking. “The time is frustrating, as well . . . I know in about seventy years there’s going to be a beautiful girl named Lauren born in Mongolia and that she’s going to develop anorexia, and I can’t do a single thing to stop it. I don’t know if Clarke grew up and had a big wedding like she’d always dreamt, or if Scarlet and her mom got away from her father, or how long her mom even lived. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter how broken or sad I am, I have to keep going. I have to do it for all of you even though I know it’s all going to end the exact same way. That’s what we have to do as pixies: we have to be strong and above all else, keep going.” He drew in a shaky breath, tears lining along his eyes.

“And I’m scared, Harry, I’m so scared. This is so perfect, here, with you, but I can’t stay. I don’t ever want to leave you, I don’t want you to have to face everything alone. I want to stay here and protect you, fight for you, but I can’t, and there’s nothing that you can do, either. You’ll have to let me go one day, sooner or later, and I don’t want that to happen. I’m scared that once I’m gone you won’t have anyone to protect you. I’m supposed to help you be able to protect yourself, but seeing Zayn, I . . .” The tears were streaming down the sides of his cheeks now, and Harry nuzzled his curls against Louis’s neck in a comforting gesture. “He’s more experienced than I am, he’s older, and he’s supposed to be better. But that happened with Liam. And Zayn, he – he was so different, so broken. That’s why he called me back, I know it is – he didn’t want me to go through what he had to. I know you’re strong, Harry, and I know you have it in you, but that doesn’t stop me from being scared. I’m scared you’ll do something . . . really bad,” Louis choked out, before a gasp shuddered into his throat, ending his speech. Harry listened to him cry, his hand rubbing soothingly across Louis’s ribcage.

After a bit, the tears began to slow and Louis pressed the heel of his free palm into his eye.

“Lou?” Harry whispered when the pixie’s breathing calmed.

“Yeah?” His voice was slightly worn and shaky.

“I’m not going to hurt you that way.” Louis let out a heavy breath.

“You can’t make a promise like that, Harry. You don’t know how things are going to be in the future.” Harry pushed himself up so that they were eye-to-eye.

“I can promise to try.” Louis’s reddened blue eyes met Harry’s wide, honest green ones and for the first in a long, long time, the pixie felt a sliver of hope buried amongst his fear.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Harry went back to school soon after that. A couple of months passed, and Louis watched as Harry became more visibly healthy. His collarbones slipped back into an encasing of skin and muscle, and the rest of his body buffed up as well. He regularly went to a gym, and the results were obvious. His self-confidence grew with his muscles, and Louis could feel himself becoming happier along with Harry.

The first couple of tattoos were small. A padlock on his hand, a quote on his wrist. Then they became larger and more frequent. A Gators symbol on the inside of his arm, a pair of hands shaking on the opposite side, a large ship in between them.

Harry seemed to become more curious about each of the people prior to them. He wanted to know more about their family lives, their home towns, their full names. Louis happily told him anything he wanted to know, not thinking anything of it.

He became slightly more suspicious, though, around Harry’s spring break. He spent a lot of time on his laptop, and closed whatever he was doing when Louis came in the room. Louis didn’t want to intrude, so he didn’t let it bother him and ignored it.

The first Saturday of April, they were both lazing around on the couch and Harry suddenly sat up.

“Let’s go out,” he said. Louis looked over at him, slightly confused.

“Okay,” he agreed cautiously. Harry looked him up and down. He reached over and ruffled the pixie’s hair.

“Shower, though, first, Lou. You still have bed head.” Louis made a face at him, but got up and headed to his bathroom. He showered quickly and threw on a white t-shirt under an open blue button-up shirt with sleeves he rolled up and dark jeans. Harry met him by the door, dressed in a plain black jumper and light blue jeans.

“Where are we going?” Louis asked as the left the flat.

“Coffee,” Harry said, no question in his voice.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Why are we suddenly going out for coffee?” Louis asked when they were standing in line at the nearest Starbucks. Harry chuckled.

“Believe me, this is anything but sudden. Now, do you know how this works?” Louis scowled.

“I’m not completely clueless. Starbucks still existed in 2083, you know.” Harry laughed.

“No, I wouldn’t know.” Louis eyed Harry cautiously. He was being unusually chipper and giggly. That coupled with the spontaneous coffee trip was starting to make Louis slightly uneasy.

They got their drinks and sat at a small table in the center of the shop. Louis’s back was to the entrance, and Harry’s eyes seemed to flicker around the door every once and a while. He continuously glanced at his watch as well, and Louis finally stopped ignoring it and sighed.

“What is with you, Harry?” he asked, annoyance creeping into his tone. A wide, dimpled grin played on the boy’s lips.

“I did some research.”

“On?” The grin grew even wider.

“I found out a lot about your people, Lou.” Harry watched as Louis’s eyes widened. “Jake was the easiest . . . he was very successful after you left him. There were newspaper articles saying he came out of nowhere, taking over his father’s company and flourishing it, making double anything his father ever earned. No one could believe it in the current state of the economy. He was almost like a local celebrity. He did get married – to someone named Mary. They had two kids, and she died in birth of the second one. He was known as a loving father and a sturdy businessman. He even wrote a book about depression called _Rise Above_. Apparently there were various mentions to a ‘close friend’ that was the reason he was alive at all. He died at 83.” Harry looked down at his watch again, then began talking faster. “Alice was harder. She got her own cooking show at 46. She got married fairly late, at 37, so she never had any kids, but she was said to be very close to her niece and nephew. I read a couple of interviews with her. When asked how she became so passionate about food, she opened up about her eating disorder. Like Jake, she talked about a very close friend who she said helped her overcome her fear of food and taught her to be strong and never give up. She got cancer at 54, then died at 57, but in another interview she said she’d gotten everything she could have wanted out of life.” A smile was slowly starting on Louis’s lips, and Harry’s voice softened. “I couldn’t find anything on Marcy. I’m sorry.” Louis’s smile lessened slightly.

“Wait . . . I understand Scarlet and Lauren, they haven’t been born yet, but . . . what about Clarke?” Harry’s grin grew impossibly wider.

“That’s, um – well . . .” Louis was still waiting when Harry stood suddenly. He stepped forward, and Louis became aware of a woman standing slightly behind him. Harry greeted the woman with a kiss on each cheek and a warm hug. Louis stood politely to be introduced, then froze.

The woman was young, but looked older than Harry. She was barely taller than Louis, and her light brown eyes looked up at him excitedly. She was tiny, not unhealthy – just naturally thin. She had thick, straight blonde hair down to about her elbows, and a cute heart-shaped face with a bright smile. Louis took in a slow breath as the hesitant suspicion formed in his mind.

“Clarke?” he asked tentatively, fear in his voice: fear of being wrong, of this small hope being crushed.

But no, her smile widened and she rushed forward, pulling Louis into a tight hug. He reciprocated happily, an ecstatic grin immediately forming on his lips as he held her close. They didn’t pull away for quite a bit, and Harry watched on happily. They began to get a few stares from other customers, but none of them cared.

Finally, they pulled apart. Louis looked over at Harry, a “thank you” on his tongue, but Harry shook his head.

“I’m going to go window shop,” he said, then hurriedly rushed out, leaving Louis and Clarke alone. Louis looked over at her, a wide smile still on his face. It felt like it would never go away.

“Wow,” he said under his breath.

“Let’s sit,” Clarke suggested. Her voice was different in age; slightly deeper and more melodic, but still hers just the same. They sat.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Louis said.

“I know, me either!” She laughed. “It was the last thing I was expecting, but when Harry called me saying that he had a pixie he thought I knew, I was absolutely _thrilled_. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“So . . . you didn’t forget about me?” Clarke’s brow furrowed.

“Of course not. I loved you, Louis. You were like a best friend and a sibling to me.” Louis’s heart sang at this, and he smiled so wide he could actually feel his eyes crinkling at the sides.

“I loved you, too, Clarke. But wow . . . you look great.” She laughed again.

“Thanks. I was in the Olympics, you know? Yeah . . . pretty much right after you left. I did floor gymnastics. I didn’t place or anything, but to even be chosen was so amazing.”

“That’s awesome, what do you do now?”

“Well, I kind of hop around. I’m only 23, you know. I have a lot of life to live, and I had a contract with a small company as a spokesperson. I’ve been in college for a year now, studying psychology, and I really like it, so I might stick with that. But what about you? How many people have you been with since me?”

“Five. Well, six if you count Harry.”

“Yeah, Harry. What’s up with you two?” Louis blinked, surprised.

“What do you mean?” Clarke sat up straight against the back of the chair, her cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink.

“Oh, I – was I not supposed to say anything?” Louis chuckled.

“No, I just . . . what makes you say that?”

“Oh. Well, it’s kind of the way he talks about you. He was so concerned about you – he really wanted you to see me for some reason.”

“Wait, how long have you been talking?”

“Oh, I forgot this was a surprise for you! Well, he first phoned me in February. We’ve been emailing since then – that’s why he greeted me like he did.”

“So . . . you talked about me then?” Clarke grinned.

“Not in a bad way, silly, don’t worry. But –” She leaned in slightly. “That boy has it bad for you.” An involuntary, fond smile found its way to Louis’s lips.

“Well, I have it bad for him, too.”

They talked for a couple hours, catching up on events in each other’s lives and talking about Harry. Clarke listened happily as Louis gushed about the boy, and he listened as she told him about her boyfriend of three years. They finally reluctantly decided to head out, as the sun was setting and the shop was to close soon.

They were greeted by Harry waiting outside, and Louis rushed forward and kissed him hard. Clarke diverted her attention with a knowing smile before they pulled apart and Louis tugged her into a tight hug.

“You’re doing great, okay?” he murmured into her hair. She nodded against his shoulder.

“I’ll never forget you, Lou.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut idk

Louis awoke that night to Harry pressed against him, obviously hard in his boxers against the pixie’s thigh. He shifted, his arm asleep under Harry’s weight, unsure what to do in this situation. He could already feel himself growing in his own boxers just from the boy’s position against him. He cursed when Harry let out a soft moan and pushed against him even harder. The next few moments passed, and neither of them moved. Louis bit the inside of his cheek, praying for Harry to either roll over or wake up. His jaw dropped open when Harry’s hips rutted against him once, twice, small whimpers escaping the sleeping boy’s mouth. A large breath rushed out of Louis’s mouth and he grew even harder.

Suddenly, Harry pushed away. Louis looked over at him and realized he was awake and quickly growing red.

“S-sorry,” Harry mumbled, not meeting the pixie’s eyes. Louis rolled over slightly so that he was on his side and they were face-to-face. He scooted closer and softly kissed him. Harry was soon eagerly kissing him back, pressing hard against Louis’s lips. Louis pulled back and his mouth started a trail along the boy’s jaw.

“What were you dreaming?” he murmured into the warm skin. He pushed Harry onto his back and moved so that he was partially hovering over him.

“I – I was dreaming about – um – us . . .”

“Mhm,” Louis purred, his mouth moving to nip at Harry’s ear.

“And we were – you know . . .” Louis smiled and laced his tongue along the space below Harry’s ear, receiving a gasp in response. “And you had tied me up, and – and you were just . . . like . . . pounding into me,” his voice lowered to the point that he was barely audible, and even though Louis was kissing down Harry’s neck, he could just _see_ how red the boy was. His own cock twitched at the words, and he moved his hand to place over Harry’s semi in his boxers. Harry moaned loudly then, his hips pushing up against the pixie’s hand. Louis quickly obliged and palmed him hard, shaping his hand around Harry’s dick as much as possible over the boxers. Harry whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut as he bucked into Louis’s hand.

Louis traced Harry’s collarbone with his lips.

“Do you want me to tie you up?” he asked quietly. Harry swallowed thickly but gave a quick, definite nod. Louis pressed a kiss to the very center of his collarbone and sat up. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” he instructed as he threw the covers aside and dashed out of the room, running to the kitchen and grabbing a thin white dish towel from a drawer. He ran back and reclaimed his position next to Harry on the bed. Harry propped himself up on his elbow, still half-lying on his back.

“Do you mind?” Louis asked quickly, as if it had just occurred to him, holding up the dish towel. Harry shook his head no and the pixie proceeded to rip two strips off of the towel. He threw the remaining thicker chunk in the corner of the room and leaned forward to press his mouth to Harry’s. He set the strips down on the bed and Harry slowly sat up, making sure their mouths didn’t break apart.

The next few moments were just kissing: open-mouthed, hot-breathed kissing. Harry tasted sweet and warm yet slightly salty when Louis’ mouth drifted and his tongue caught the skin above the pink flesh of Harry’s lip. Their lips moved so perfectly together, it was almost impossible to not get caught up in it, but soon Harry was pawing at Louis’ waist, pulling him closer, his impatience surfacing. Louis pushed him down flat on his back and moved to straddle him. His lips trailed down Harry’s softly defined stomach before he brought their mouths together once again. They broke apart and Louis placed his hands over Harry’s, pulling them up from his own waist and pinning them on the bed above his head. He reached back for the strips of dish cloth, then took both of Harry’s hands and secured them to the headboard.

Louis drew back so that he was hovering over Harry, who was looking up at him with wide, needy eyes. That look, coupled with the position he had the boy in, sparked even more arousal in the bottom of his tummy and he felt himself begin to strain against his boxers. Their mouths met again, Harry pulling up at the point where they touched, like a magnet, his shoulders barely coming off the bed. Louis gently pushed him down before his hands went to work on the boy’s boxers. He tugged them off, watching as Harry’s cock sprung up against his stomach.

Harry watched as Louis hurriedly pulled his boxers off, seeming completely content with his arms above his head: vulnerable, open, and waiting for Louis. The pixie pressed on top of him quickly once his clothes were gone. Their hips met and moved together. Harry’s hands clenched and unclenched in their useless position as Louis ground down extra hard on him.

Louis’ mouth found its way to Harry’s ear and he bit softly, pulling the tiniest bit.

“Do you want me to ride you?” he breathed. Harry’s eyes squeezed shut as Louis bit into his shoulder – harder than usual. He shook his head, labored pants escaping his mouth.

“Want you to fuck me,” he gasped. “Please, Lou . . . I need –” He was cut off by a sharp inhale as Louis suddenly sucked that sweet spot on his neck – hard. Louis reached towards the drawer in the bedside table for the lube. He dropped the small bottle onto the mattress and slipped his hand under Harry’s bum, cupping and squeezing, causing Harry to whimper.

“Please,” he begged. Louis smirked at his impatience and wormed down as Harry spread his thighs so that he was between the boy’s legs. He reached for the lube again and squeezed some onto his index finger. He looked up at Harry through his eyelashes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to ride you?” he asked cheekily. Harry groaned, his head falling back on the mattress.

“Don’t tease, Lou, get on with it,” he whined. Louis chuckled, then paused when an idea sprung into his mind. He tossed the bottle of lube aside, and changed his position so that his head was near Harry’s arse.

“What –” Harry began, but Louis shook his head and guided Harry’s thighs to rest on his shoulders. This was something that he normally hated doing, but he was so determined to drive Harry wild that he ignored his own reluctance.

He placed his mouth so that it was centimeters away from Harry’s hole and traced his tongue around the tight ring of muscle. Harry’s head dropped back on the mattress and he immediately let out a loud moan. Louis smirked, then dropped the smile and edged his tongue into Harry’s entrance. Harry let out a high whine, his whole body tensing. Louis wasted no time, pushing his tongue in even further. His hands drifted to press the boy’s hips down so they didn’t suddenly buck up. He began to move his tongue, thrusting it in and out of Harry while he whimpered and his cock pressed swollen and painfully hard against his tummy. Soon he was stretched enough and Louis pulled back, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

“Ready?” he asked. Harry nodded eagerly and Louis spread lube onto his hand and onto his cock. Harry wiggled a bit, frowning, seemingly remembering that his hands were tied. Louis smirked as he noticed this.

“Uncomfortable?” he asked cockily. Harry’s frown grew.

“No. I just forgot I wouldn’t be able to do that for you like usual.” Louis’ smirk faded and he wondered how he could get any more turned on than he already was.

He leaned forward, reclaiming his position of hovering over Harry. He supported his weight with one hand near the boy’s ribcage and the other cupped loosely at the base of his shaft as he lined up with Harry’s entrance. Harry spread his thighs even farther apart and licked his lips as he watched.

Louis glanced up at Harry and paused. He looked so _pretty_ – eyes half-lidded and a bright blush coloring his cheeks; his lips parted and kiss-swollen. The new butterfly tattoo on his tummy heaved and rolled as heavy pants left his mouth. He blinked and his eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheekbones before his eyes met Louis’s blue ones expectantly. Louis’s gaze raked over the scars that littered Harry’s arms and hip bones and thighs and his heart ached at how such a beautiful boy had been through so much pain.

Louis stopped then, putting his weight on his knees so that his hands were free to go to Harry’s hips. His fingertips skated across the scarred, bumpy skin and he slid them down Harry’s thighs before going back up again, passing the point where he had started and going up, up, up to brush along the similar marks along the boy’s biceps and forearms. His hands trailed back down and moved to cup Harry’s jaw as he leaned down and pressed their lips together in a deep kiss.

They shared a moment of surprisingly innocent kissing considering their situation, but Harry was soon wiggling underneath Louis and the desperation and need was present in both of them once again. Louis returned to his previous position with his hand supporting his weight by Harry’s rib cage and lined himself up again. Harry’s hands were balled up in their tied position and he squirmed in impatience.

Louis finally pushed in, trying to be gentle but not doing a very good job as he was so in need from the delay. Harry’s chest rose with a visible deep breath as he adjusted.

“Louis, faster,” he gasped, “please.” Louis immediately pushed in completely, fisting the sheet next to Harry’s torso, his other hand moving up to hold the headboard. Harry gasped and his back arched and Louis quickly pulled almost completely out and thrust in again. He was rewarded with a loud moan and he repeated the action again and again, Harry’s moans and gasps increasing in volume with each thrust.

Louis just lost it then, pounding into Harry with everything he had as the boy fell apart underneath him, moaning and panting and whimpering Louis’s name.

Louis released his grip on the headboard and moved his hand down to slip in between them, grasping Harry’s cock, causing Harry to groan loudly. His hands turned slightly in the dish cloth knot and he clutched the headboard. Louis pumped his hand in time with his hips moving and soon they were both teetering on the edge. Louis’s name was escaping Harry’s mouth in pants every time the boy gathered the breath to speak and in hearing that, his eyes squeezed shut as he released into Harry, continuing to move his hips and his hand until Harry spilled hot onto them both.

They came down from their highs, both winded, Harry’s eyes barely open like a sleepy kitten. Louis slipped out of him and hurriedly retrieved the larger chunk of dish cloth and he cleaned both of them off. He discarded the towel and moved up to untie Harry from the headboard. There were definite red marks on his wrists and Louis cradled them in his hand.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, attempting to soothe the angry markings with his thumbs. Harry shook his head.

“’S worth it,” he mumbled as he gazed sleepily up at the pixie. Louis smiled and kissed each of his wrists, then pulled the covers on top of Harry and cuddled up next to him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next morning Harry was just waking up as Louis came in with two mugs of tea. He smiled at the pixie sleepily and took one of the mugs.

“Good morning,” Harry murmured. Louis smiled at him, but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was a bit off, the corners of his mouth not pulling up and touching his eyes.

“Morning,” he said softly. Harry propped himself up on his elbows as Louis sat on the bed next to him and took a sip from his mug. Louis looked down into his tea, and Harry sat up.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern edging into his tone. Louis nodded, then looked up at Harry and nodded again.

“Yeah . . . yeah.” Harry frowned.

“No, you’re not. C’mon, Lou, tell me, please?” Louis paused, looking down at his tea again. He looked back up and took Harry’s mug and set it with his own on the bedside table. Before Harry could ask what he was doing, the pixie pressed their lips together hard, forcing Harry’s mouth open with his own, his tongue licking into the boy’s mouth. He pushed Harry back down onto the bed, climbing on top of him. Harry cautiously kissed him back, knowing this was an attempt at a diversion.

Louis slid his hand down to palm Harry through his boxers. Harry’s hips pressed up into his hand, his eyes fluttering shut as the pixie’s tongue traced down his neck. A sudden wetness on his neck separate from Louis’s tongue startled Harry and he pulled Louis up so that he could see his face. Tears were clouding the pixie’s eyes and staining his cheeks. He choked out a gasp and pressed his face into Harry’s neck. Harry’s arms encircled him and he rubbed his hands across his back.

“Lou, what’s wrong? Please tell me, I want to help,” Harry murmured, pleading as Louis attempted to calm down. Louis shifted so that he was next to Harry instead of on top of him, and wordlessly took the boy’s forearm in his hand. He turned it so that it was facing up and his fingers trailed over the scars. Harry’s free hand came to rest on top of the pixie’s, and he kissed the feathery brown locks.

“You’ve been doing well,” Louis whispered, his voice weak and shaky. Harry waited, his thumb stroking back and forth on Louis’s hand. “How many months clean, now?”

“Four,” Harry said quietly. Louis set the boy’s arm down and cuddled into him.

“I can’t stay here forever,” Louis whispered.

“I know.”

“I’m really scared, Harry.” A choked sob came out into Harry’s neck and he silently rubbed the pixie’s back. “I – I feel like I could be okay if I knew that you were safe, that you were okay, that you were happy, but I won’t know that. And if I found out that – if a line comes on your marble, all I’m going to know is that there was a time when you needed someone, when you needed help and _I wasn’t there_.”

“I could never do that to you.” Louis pulled back with a sniff.

“What?”

“I can’t imagine – just finding out like that, about you, not knowing how or why . . . I couldn’t hurt you that way. I’m not going to.” The pixie didn’t respond, just cuddled back into Harry so that his face wasn’t visible. Harry rubbed his back, a hollow feeling in his tummy. “You don’t believe me, do you?” he whispered. Louis pressed his face into the boy’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said into Harry’s skin. “I want to, but . . .”

“I had a cousin,” Harry said suddenly, his hand becoming still on Louis’s back. “Her name was Bella. She was amazing. She was like, my best friend. I was a year older than her but it never mattered. She used to live on the street behind me, but her family moved when I was seventeen. She was the one I would always talk to about everything. She was my only friend through over half of secondary school. And I was the only one who really cared about her, who helped her with her disorder. Her family was never there. They just took her to her therapist appointments and picked her up. They treated her like a freak. I was the one she would talk to when she was so mad she couldn’t see straight, or had been crying for an hour for no reason whatsoever. It got harder when she moved. She would still call me, but it was more difficult for me to console her through the phone, and I felt like she thought she was bothering me.” Harry took a deep breath, and Louis listened patiently. “One day about a year ago, her brother came home from school. She hadn’t been feeling well – just the flu, or something – and she’d been home alone. He normally didn’t talk to her that much, but he must have needed something from her room for homework because he went in her room.” Harry’s eyes shut, and his voice lowered. “He found her on the floor, in a pool of her own vomit. It was too late, then. She’d taken the pills hours before . . . she’d been dead for a while. He said – he said her expression was more peaceful than he’d seen it in a long time.

“She left a note addressed to me. No one in her family read it. They planned a really nice funeral, went through all the motions, but I don’t think they really cared – or wanted to care. The note said she was sorry she’d put me through so much. That she’d been a waste of my time because I’d tried to help her so much and now she was dead. It said she hoped I could forgive her.” Harry paused, and Louis waited silently for him to continue. “I wish I could have told her . . . she wasn’t a waste of my time. I wasn’t ever mad. I miss her, that’s all. I hate to think that she left thinking she’d disappointed me.”

Louis didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. Harry knew that telling the pixie that had ensured their trust in each other, and he knew that Louis believed him, at least a little bit. He pulled Louis closer to himself and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He knew, then, that they were both going to be okay, whether they were together or not.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Harry was in the kitchen the next morning when Louis walked in, oddly quiet and calm.

“Harry,” he said softly, stopping a few paces away from the boy. Harry looked up at him with a bright smile.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted, watching as the pixie’s eyes dipped over him, once, then again, slower the second time. Louis took a visible breath and walked towards Harry. He encircled his arms around the boy and pressed their bodies together. Harry returned the embrace, pressing his cheek into Louis’s hair. “What’s wrong, Lou?” he murmured.

“I love you,” Louis said into Harry’s neck. Harry paused, his tummy somersaulting. A grin found its way to his lips and he pulled Louis impossibly closer.

“I love you too.” Neither of them pulled back for a moment, then Louis reluctantly broke the embrace. When they separated, Harry noticed that they pixie’s eyes were shimmering.

“Louis?” he asked in alarm. “What’s wrong?” Louis gave a small shake of his head, his expression strangely apologetic.

“Harry,” he whispered. “It’s time.” Harry didn’t respond for a minute, not comprehending. His gaze drifted down, his body seemingly moving on its own accord. It was like time was made of syrup: everything was slow, warped somehow. Suddenly his eyes met the pixie’s and he understood.

“How long?” Louis shook his head, his bottom lip trembling.

“Not long. I can already feel it.” Harry stepped forward, his hand moving to the small of Louis’s back, pushing him forward as their lips met. Their bodies pressed together, every inch possible touching.

“I’m sorry –” Louis started when they pulled apart, but Harry shook his head.

“No. Lou, I want you to do something for me.” He wiped a tear that spilled over onto Louis’s cheek with his thumb. “I want you to be strong for the next person, okay? I want you to help them. Don’t worry about me. I promise I’ll be okay. I can do this because of you.” He smiled a sad smile. “Can you do that for me?” Louis took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded.

“It’s soon,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Probably less than a minute. I can barely feel you . . .” His fingertips drifted across the boy’s chest, and Harry could barely feel their presence. He pressed a kiss to the pixie’s forehead.

“It’s okay, Lou,” he murmured. “You can let me go.”

It was strange, the way Louis faded. It was sudden and quick, but so slow that Harry could have spent an hour describing it. His arms dropped, empty air now filling the space where Louis had been. He looked towards his own bedroom, the covers mussed and thrown about from their night of cuddling in different positions. Almost automatically, his gaze went to Louis’s room, untouched for months, the bed made, the occasional shirt or sock scattered on the floor. He stared at the space in front of him, now cold and empty in comparison to the warm, lively pixie that had been there just moments before. His hand reached out, sticking straight into the space. The motion made it definite, made him really sure, and he suddenly noticed the lump in his throat.

It was real. This wasn’t a dream.

Louis was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end I promise there's like two more chapters maybe one I haven't decided stick with me okay I'm sorry I love you


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and I like cliffhangers  
> Send me a message at prostitutelou.tumblr.com or leave a comment! Ily.x

Louis went on as a pixie. He grew older, going through person after person, just like he had before Harry. He noticed that the people that he helped grew less and less damaged when he arrived. He figured that after a certain amount of increasing severity, it could only level off.

He still grew attached to all of his people, but never in the way he had with Harry. Not a day passed when he didn’t think of the boy, and every morning when he woke up he checked the small stone on his bracelet designated for Harry. Every morning it remained the same – a swirly, creamy off-white color. No red or black tainted the vanilla droplet, and Louis found that that gave him the power to smile through everything and continue with his job.

When the timing was right, he thought of seeing Harry. _Of course_ he did. He debated with himself in his mind over and over, knowing he could find the boy fairly easily, but every time he decided against it. It would have just been a repeat of before: Louis would always have to leave.

Now he was with his sixteenth person, a thirteen-year-old named Delilah. She was pale, grey eyes with a slight green tint, and hair so dark brown it was almost black. Louis sometimes looked at her and grew sad, as the thought crossed his mind that she could be Harry’s son. Their skin had the same creamy texture and their lips the same fullness, along with similar bone structure and long, thick eyelashes. He sincerely hoped that Harry wasn’t her father, however, as her parents had died in a car crash when she was six and she now lived with a relative – a cousin or aunt or grandparent or something – Louis could never remember. He pushed it out of his mind often, reminding himself that Delilah’s voice had a distinct American lilt and that she lived in Illinois.

Delilah was sick today, curled up in a ball, propped against a pile of pillows, watching movies from the 1980s on the large flat screen in her room. Louis was lying a little away from her, his mind trailing to Harry unusually often. He noticed particularly how Delilah’s cheekbones reminded his of Harry’s, the way that, when she blinked, her eyelashes brushed across the top of them. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, slightly whiny voice.

“Louuuuiiiiiiis,” Delilah said.

“Deliiilaaaah,” Louis mimicked her, a small smile forming on his lips as she scowled. “Yes?”

“My head hurts . . . could you go downstairs and get some Advil?” Louis fake-sighed.

“I _suppose_ so,” he conceded, “but will your uncle be here?” Delilah shook her head.

“He shouldn’t be . . . He usually goes out for groceries on Thursdays . . . or, I think it’s on Thursdays.” Louis gave her a joking scowl and got up from her bed. “It’s in the cabinet in the kitchen. Across from the fridge, the top one. You might have to dig.”

Louis trumped down the stairs and followed her directions to the cabinet across the fridge. He opened the door and was nearly bombarded by an avalanche of pills. A couple of bottles clattered onto the floor, but Louis decided to find the Advil before worrying about them. He reached up on his tiptoes, moving random vitamin bottles and flu treatments aside. He had just spotted the bottle and was reaching toward it, at the very back of the cabinet, when a deep voice interrupted him.

“What are you doing here?” Louis froze, his tummy dropping down to his feet. Heart pounding in his chest, his eyes grew wide and he slowly sank back so that his heels were touching the ground. That voice – so familiar, too familiar, no, it couldn’t be – could it? He was terrified to look, and stood motionless, his eyes squeezing shut for a few seconds, then snapping open. The cabinet door separated his vision from the owner of the voice. The voice didn’t return, but he still sensed the presence of the other person in the room. His fingers tensed on the separator shelf of the cabinet and he took a small, shuddering breath, and stepped back.

He turned to look towards the owner of the voice, who was looking at him with a completely expressionless face. Louis’s eyes raked over the boy – well, technically, man, now – the long, thin legs sheathed in grey sweatpants, the lanky, tall torso covered by a black v-neck t-shirt, the curly brown locks now swept into a wavy fringe with ringlet-like sides, and finally the familiar, bright, shiny green eyes.

Harry’s eyes met his, the full pink lips pressing shut. Louis silently took a small step forward, his hand reaching out hesitantly. It was like everything was underwater, slow motion, his heel meeting the floor what could have been hours before the ball of his foot.

He reached conversation distance from Harry and held his hand up. An offering: something that would make this all real, their touch solidifying each other’s presence. Louis became incredibly aware of the solidarity of his hand, hanging in the air. He realized it was more than an offering; it was a pleading, an act of vulnerability so open to rejection.

Harry’s hand was suddenly pressed to his, much larger in size, his fingers reaching up about half an inch over Louis’s. Their palms pushed together so that no space came between them, and after a second, Louis moved his hand the slightest and laced their fingers together.

A bright, dimpled, familiar smile appeared on Harry’s face as he did this, and Louis’s face mirrored it for a split second before he lunged forward and pressed their lips together.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry for the long wait :) This is really more of an epilogue so it's very short, hope you all like it. Don't forget to follow me at prostitutelou.tumblr.com and thank you so, so much for reading.xxxxxxx

“How . . .” Harry murmured, staring at Louis with a wide grin. The one that mirrored it on Louis’ face dropped slightly.

“I –” He couldn’t bring himself to say the truth of Darcy. Harry didn’t seem to notice the fall of Louis’ smile. His hands firmly clasped either of the pixie’s biceps and the grin remained bright and powerful on his face.

“I can’t believe you found me again,” Harry whispered, wonder bleeding into his voice. A sharp pang shot into Louis’ stomach and he took a small breath, the smile disappearing from his face.

“Harry, I – I wasn’t here on purpose.” Harry’s face froze and his grip loosened. Louis took a deep breath, his eyes finally flicking away from the green ones that stared at him. “I’m here for Darcy.” Harry’s hands dropped from Louis’ arms. There was a pause.

“How?” Harry finally whispered.

“She cuts.” Louis continued to not look at Harry, and paused. “She’s almost a month clean,” he tacked on, almost as an afterthought. His eyes finally travelled to Harry, who was facing away from him. The dread in his tummy felt like a block of lead. He stepped forward hesitantly, closer to Harry. He reached towards his hand and brought it up to his cheek. Harry’s fingers branched forward absentmindedly to increase the amount of skin-to-skin contact.

“I want to help,” he said softly. Louis looked up at Harry in surprise.

“What?” Harry smiled a small smile.

“Don’t look so surprised, Lou. She’s my niece. I want to help.” A bright grin quickly found its way to Louis’ lips. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s hand.

“Of course,” he whispered. “Of course.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Harry did help. He and Louis spent some time catching up, then went up to tell Darcy everything. Harry didn’t tell Louis anything that he couldn’t have guessed from the lack of lines on his marble. He briefly mentioned Gemma’s death, but Louis had previously gotten the details from Darcy. Louis didn’t tell of the others he’d visited, and Harry didn’t ask. They talked like it had been hours since they’d seen each other last.

Afterwards, they both helped Darcy get better. Louis watched as her trust for Harry grew as he opened up about his past. The scars on Harry’s arms were long gone, faded years ago, and Darcy’s began the journey along the same healing path.

When Louis left, it was sad, but both he and Harry knew that it was necessary for them to be apart. They knew that Louis needed to help other people, and Louis knew that Harry needed to let him go.


End file.
